


Kelp!I Need Somebody

by andimeantittosting (Saylee)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Divergent from 13x23, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Bad at Feelings, Hot Springs, Hurt/Comfort, Kelpies, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Newly Human Castiel (Supernatural), Post-Michael Possession, Sharing a Bed, implied future Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester, minor Cesar Cuevas/Jesse Cuevas - Freeform, minor Charlie Bradbury/Rowena MacLeod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-08 07:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17977340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting
Summary: It’s been a week since Michael was defeated and Dean freed, but Castiel can’t seem to get back on the horse. Dean, on the other hand appears to have bounced back completely, with one small exception: he no longer dares touch the now-human Cas at all.When they receive a call from Jesse and Cesar to come investigate a series of mysterious drownings near their New Mexico ranch, Dean jumps on the job, much to Cas and Sam’s dismay. But more challenging than the kelpie they encounter, Jesse and Cesar’s relationship holds up a mirror, showing Dean and Cas the future they wish they could have. When Rowena and Charlie get involved, a shake-up is inevitable.





	1. Day 1 - A Gift Horse

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Pinefest. Check out the amazing art by [Cryptomoon](http://cryptomoon.tumblr.com/), which is embedded here, and go leave lots of love on the [Art Masterpost](http://cryptomoon.tumblr.com/post/183464920847/my-art-for-kelpi-need-somebody-by).
> 
> Each time Supernatural is renewed, my wishlist features one particular thing: a kelpie episode. Finally, I decided to write the kelpie episode I want to see in the world. Participating in Pinefest has been wonderful, and I want to thank the mods for all the work they put in to make this such a positive experience.
> 
> I want to thank the wonderful [MalMuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses) for alpha-ing and beta-ing this fic, and for encouraging me and keeping me going when the story simply didn't want to be written.

Dean has only been home again for a week—home in the bunker, home in his own body—when the call comes.

“Hey, man,” Dean answers. He slides the book he’s been reading onto the table, open face down. Sam will complain to him later about bending the spine, but honestly, this book isn’t particularly old or valuable, and Dean’s stance is that it’s the contents of books that are important, not their physical condition. His dog-eared Vonnegut collection is a testament to that.

Castiel sinks down further in his chair, as Dean removes his boots from the polished wood tabletop and climbs to his feet. He tracks Dean out of the corner of his eye, while pretending to continue to read. To be fair, he hasn’t actually accomplished much reading in the hour he’s been in here, reading merely a pretext for being in the same room as Dean without being accused of keeping an eye on him, or worse, having Dean turn around and try to take care of _him_.

Dean is still recovering. He needs to rest.

He’s nodding along to whatever this caller is saying to him. “Uh huh, yeah, that sounds like our kind of thing.” He paces the library, phone to his ear, taking the opportunity to stretch out his shoulders and neck. Cas stares blankly down at the text in front of him.

Dean switches the phone to his other ear in order to stretch the other side. He laughs at whatever the man on the phone is saying. “Nah, man, I totally get it. You’re retired. You worry about the horses, we’ll worry about this.”

Behind his book, Cas purses his lips in displeasure. Is Dean really considering taking on a hunt, so soon after—

“Awesome, we’ll see you soon.”

He is. Of course he is. Cas lets out a gusty sigh as Dean hangs up the phone, setting his book down with a finger to mark the page—not that it matters—and turning his gaze on Dean to hear the news.

“So, that was Jesse,” Dean announces, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Cas startles. “The antichrist?”

“What? No.” Dean chuckles. “Haven’t heard from that little dude since the apocalypse. Hope he’s doing okay. Nah, I mean Jesse Cuevas.” Cas looks at him blankly. “Jesse and Cesar?” When Cas continues to stare at him uncomprehendingly, he snaps his fingers. “That’s right. You never met them. That was back when you—y’know, when Lucifer was taking you for a joyride.”

Cas feels a wave of guilt that is completely unfair, given that Dean himself is only a week out from being ‘taken for a joyride’ by Michael.

“Anyway,” Dean continues, “they’re retired hunters; got a horse ranch now, out in New Mexico.”

“And they called you with a hunt,” Cas surmises.

“Yeah. They don’t really have time to take care of it, too busy with the horses, but they’ve offered us a place to stay while we work.”

“So you accepted?” Cas grimaces, knowing full well he had.

Dean looks pained at his tone, but simply shrugs in response. “Sure, always happy to help a friend out.”

“So, what you’re telling me,” Cas grits out, “is that you said _Yes_ without thinking?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s hardly the same thing, Cas.” But that doesn’t matter, because Cas remembers all too clearly the devastation of watching his truest friend say _Yes_ to Michael, watching him leave, knowing full well that Michael would not let Dean walk away.

He fold his arms over his chest, and simply glares at Dean in stoney silence, until Dean throws up his hands in frustration.

“You make a hard-ass human, you know that?” He sighs. “Come on, didn’t you hear me? Horse ranch. Cowboys. You know you wanna.” He wiggles his eyebrows hopefully.

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a headache brewing—one of his least favorite parts of being human. “I think you mean _you_ want to.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean admits, and Cas lifts his head to see Dean gazing at him expectantly. “It’ll be fun.”

Castiel is torn. After everything they went through—everything Dean went through—while Michael was wearing his body, Castiel isn’t sure he’s ready to see Dean jump right back into hunting. On the other hand, Dean has bounced back quickly, showing no ill-effects and acting like nothing was ever wrong. His demeanor is in sharp contrast to the despair Cas felt during those long weeks. And he seems so enthusiastic about the case. Perhaps Castiel’s feelings are compromising his judgement. Again.

He sighs. “Fine. I’ll go pack.”

“Attaboy, Cas.” Dean makes a move as if to pat him on the shoulder, but aborts at the last second.

Dean hasn’t touched him since Michael.

 

*****

 

“So, explain this case to me?” Sam asks from the passenger seat, as they hit the road. “All I got from you was that you get to indulge your cowboy fetish again.”

“It’s not a fetish,” Dean protests. In the rearview mirror, he sees Cas scowl in the backseat.

Cas isn’t happy about Dean accepting this hunt; he knows that. But he’s fine, no lingering after effects from Michael at all—at least none he’s willing to admit to—and anyway, Cas has been weird since Dean came back. He’s undoubtedly less than thrilled about becoming human again, a thing that Dean has been trying hard not to think about. Watching his own hands—

He slams the brakes on that train of thought. He must have slammed on the literal brakes a little too hard as well, because they jolt to a halt in front of a stop sign, and now Sam is scowling at him, too.

Whatever, this trip will be fun. Okay, so people have been dying, which is less fun. But there will be cowboys—and for those people in the car who don’t share Dean’s enthusiasm for the finer things in life, there will be wide open spaces, and beautiful vistas, and clean air. Plus, Jesse and Cesar are great guys, ones Dean would like to get to know better, and he thinks Cas will like them, too.

This trip will be good for all of them.

Except for the people who’ve already died, poor bastards.

“The case,” Sam prompts as they pull away from the stop sign again. “What are we dealing with?”

Dean rolls his shoulders, settling more comfortably behind the wheel. “Buncha hinky drownings in the creek that runs through a few ranches up that way.”

“Hinky how?”

He shrugs. “It’s a pretty shallow creek, for one.”

Sam purses his lips, looking dubious. “You know it’s possible to drown in just a few inches of water. That’s not hinky.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Sure. But a whole bunch of people? In the same few inches of water? And all of them there long enough to be eaten by some kind of animal? Hinky enough for you, yet?”

“That is a little weird,” Sam concedes.

Cas sighs from the backseat. “I still think it’s too soon for a hunt, but unless there’s some reason not to trust Jesse’s story, it does sound ‘hinky.’”

Dean snorts softly at the audible quotation marks, but Cas has already slouched back down in his seat, looking as miserable as he has for the past week. Dean feels something clench in his chest. Here’s hoping the ranch will cheer him up.

He switches on the music, turning the volume down so they can still talk comfortably, and Sam’s phone chirps with an incoming message.

“That Mom?” Dean asks, idly drumming along on the steering wheel.

Sam picks up his phone to check. “Yeah.” He reads the message preview and swipes his screen open to read the rest. “They’ve just arrived and checked in. She’s sent pictures of their room. Suite, actually, so Jack gets his own room.”

Mary and Bobby have taken Jack to investigate a haunting at Shady Pines, a family resort on Lake Michigan. Dean’s not quite sure yet what to make of the fact that his mother—who is younger than him—is dating the alternate universe version of the man who was a father-figure to him, or that they’re apparently at the sharing a bed stage. It seems to make them both happy, though, so more power to them.

Jack had been thrilled at the idea of trying out all the resort activities in between the hunting, and Dean had even caught his mother speculatively eyeing the list of spa services. No doubt, their room is way nicer than the usual hunter’s fare.

“Show me after,” he tells Sam.

“Sure,” Sam agrees. “Cas, you want a look?” He passes the phone into the backseat, where Cas dutifully swipes through a series of photos. Dean watches him in the rearview mirror, sees his face soften. Mary must have sent pictures of the three of them, as well as the room, he surmises.

Cas used to look at _him_ in that soft way, Dean laments, in the quiet moments between crises. Since the mess with Michael, he’s stopped. Instead, Dean has sometimes caught Cas watching him with a hurt painted across his face that sits in Dean’s stomach like lead. He doesn’t know how to fix it, doesn’t know if it can be fixed, if Cas can ever again look at Dean without seeing what Michael had done to him.

Maybe dragging him along on a hunt wasn’t the best choice, but Dean suspects benching him now that he’s human would only have made him feel useless. He’ll just have to be extra careful with him on this trip, keep his distance as much as he can.

Dean grimaces. He misses Cas more now than the entire time he’d been ridden around by Michael. He shoves the feeling down. It’s no more than he deserves.

 

*****

 

It’s about thirteen hours to Jesse and Cesar’s ranch just west of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, and it was already mid-afternoon when they’d left, so they stop for the night in La Junta, Colorado.

They find a bar for burgers and beer. Cas picks listlessly at his label while they wait for their food. Dean pretends not to watch him with concern. Luckily, the food seems to perk Cas up, and he and Sam begin brainstorming creatures that could be responsible, Cas scribbling down their suggestions onto a napkin one-handed in between bites of his burger.

“I think we should consider a fossegrim,” Sam insists.

Cas presses his lips together while he mulls it over. “It’s a possibility,” he concedes, writing it down, “though less likely than a grindylow.” He underlines the name he had already marked down.

Dean swallows the last bite of his burger and crumples up his napkin. “What about a rusalka,” he suggests. “They like to drown people, don’t they?”

“I’ve never heard of one eating someone, though,” Sam comments. “Or of one outside Europe.”

“We’ll add it to the list,” Cas decides.

“They’re related to Women in White, so add that down, too.” Dean finishes his beer and looks around for their server, signalling her for the bill. “I’m beat. What say we go find a motel and pick this up once we’ve had a chance to talk to Jesse and Cesar?”

He realizes immediately that admitting to being tired was a mistake, when Cas and Sam turn matching worried looks on him.

“For fuck’s sake.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m fine. I was up early to make breakfast for Mom, Bobby and Jack before they hit the road.” Sam seems mollified, but there’s still a furrow to Cas’s brow that Dean doesn’t like. He wonders what it would be like to smooth it away with his own hands. He quirks a lip at Cas. “C’mon, quit looking at me like that. I’m not about to keel over here and now, and if you’re that concerned, the best thing for me is a good night’s sleep.”

The waitress arrives then with the bill and the card reader. “Here you go, boys.”

He turns a grin on her, charming but not particularly flirtatious. “Thanks, sweetheart.” In his peripheral vision, Cas looks away. Pretending to be unbothered, he pulls out his wallet and pays in cash. “Know a decent motel around here?”

“Sure, about five minutes from here.” She smiles and her eyebrow lifts as she counts the tip. “And thank _you_. Lemme write the directions down for you.” She tucks the cash into her apron pocket and takes out her order pad and a pen. Leaning over the table, she sketches a quick map and tears it off, offering it to Dean. “Think that’ll do ya?” She replaces the notepad and sticks the pen behind her ear.

“I think I can follow this,” Dean agrees.

“Thank you, Tracy,” Cas adds gravely, reading off her nametag.

“Thank you,” Sam echoes.

Tracy winks and begins stacking plates together to carry back to the kitchen. “Not a problem. Have a nice night.”

They pile out of the bar and into the Impala. The short drive to the motel is spent tossing around a few more ideas: nix, kelpie, kappa. Like the rusalka, they all seem unlikely this far from their countries of origin, but Cas notes them down, just in case.

The motel is a tidy, red-roofed affair. Sam heads into the office while Dean and Cas unload the bags and stand awkwardly around the Impala waiting for him to return with the room key. Dean presses his lips into a grim line and steals a glance at Cas, who once again looks stiff and hunched. He aches to reach out a hand and touch his shoulder, soften him, soothe him. But he remembers what his hands have done to Cas, and he doesn’t. His fingers twitch.

Sam emerges from the building dangling a key and waves them over to their door while he unlocks it. The room is bland, but thankfully clean and smells faintly of bleach. It’s not strong enough to make Dean’s eyes itch, but Cas still wrinkles his nose up in displeasure.

“Appreciate it,” Dean advises Cas, dumping his and Sam’s duffle bags on the foot of one of the double beds. “It means the place isn’t crawling in germs.”

“That or the last guests did something that took that much bleach to clean up.” Sam is in the process of wrestling the cot out of the closet. “This thing’s too short for me. Looks like you two are going to have to duke it out for who has to sleep on it.”

Dean scoffs. “Don’t tell him that. And I’ll take the cot. Cas can have the bed. No sense giving yourself a backache when you’re a brand-new human.”

“Dean,” Cas starts to argue.

“Take it, Cas,” Sam advises. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Cas relents. He drops his bag on his bed, and grabs his second pillow, pushing it into Dean’s arms. When Dean opens his mouth to argue, Cas fixes him with a look. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Dean.”


	2. Day 2 - Beggars Would Ride

Despite taking the bed, Cas sleeps badly that night. His dreams are haunted with his last glimpse of Dean, already lit up with Michael’s grace and ready to walk out the door to fight Lucifer. In the dream it takes much longer to locate Michael again. Instead of those terrible months—it’s years, decades, as one by one Castiel’s friends, the people he loves, are lost, until it’s just him, wandering the earth for an eternity searching for the man he loves. He wakes with his face wet and dashes the tears away before Dean or Sam can see.

He spends most of the drive the next day staring out the window at the scenery. The brown earth and scrubby greenery go by in a blur. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him in the rearview mirror—more often than they probably should be when he’s driving, but the roads aren’t busy, and Dean has excellent reflexes. Cas doesn’t raise his eyes to meet Dean’s gaze.

He knows he’s worrying Dean. He knows that Dean wants to pretend that everything is normal after his ordeal. But Cas can’t be normal. Can’t stop seeing Dean’s mouth form that fateful syllable, can’t stop remembering Michael’s light streaming into him, cold and hard and unforgiving. Dean had still been himself after that, beautiful and determined and brave, Michael pretending for the moment to honour the terms of their deal. But Cas had known, even then, that everything was lost. He remembers being left alone with Michael’s empty vessel.

And he remembers finally, finally confronting Michael, after fruitless months, and seeing nothing of Dean in that beloved face.

Having Dean back is a miracle of the highest order, but Castiel still aches as if he’s lost him for good.

He tries to do better when they stop for lunch, even going so far as to ask Dean for his recommendation as he scours the menu screens in the fast food restaurant. Dean glances at him, mouth parted in what Cas surmises is surprise—presumably because Cas has deigned to ask his opinion after a long morning of silence. Cas represses a grimace at his own behaviour.

“These screens move too fast,” he complains, but in a tone that invites Dean to commiserate. He can’t finish reading before they flash over to advertisements for the current seasonal specials. “How am I supposed to know what I want if they don’t show the whole menu?”

Dean smiles sideways at him and shrugs. “I dunno, Cas. It’s fast food: burgers, chicken, fries. I’m getting a bacon cheeseburger.”

Cas ends up ordering the same, and Sam gets a salad topped with grilled chicken.

(“Seriously?” he says in response to the face Dean makes. “We had burgers last night, and those were a lot better than what you’ll get here.”)

Their order is called. Cas and Sam each take a tray, while Dean grabs straws and loads up little paper cups with ketchup. They all cram into a plastic booth. Sam’s right that the burger isn’t nearly as nice as the ones at the bar last night, but it’s hot and filling, two things Cas learned to appreciate the last time he was human.

He watches Dean dunk a handful of fries in the ketchup and cram them into his mouth at once. “What are Jesse and Cesar like?” he asks, by way of making conversation.

“They’re good guys,” Dean says. “Good hunters, but with the sense to get out while the getting was good. We met them hunting bisaan up in Colorado.”

“They said they mostly stuck to Mexico, sometimes Texas,” Sam explains, “which is why we’d never run into them before. The bisaan thing was personal.”

“I think they’d been together six or seven years,” Dean adds.

“Yeah, and you said they were like brothers,” Sam teases. Dean shrugs in acceptance.

“It was an honest mistake.”

“So, they weren’t like brothers?” Cas clarifies and Dean snorts.

“Nah, they’re a married couple. I caught on quick enough.”

“Yeah, after Cesar told you,” Sam retorts.

“Shut up.” Dean throws a fry at his brother. “I had other things on my mind.”

Cas is in better spirits for the last leg of their journey.

“It’s an unusual name for a town,” he remarks as they pass the population marker for Truth or Consequences.

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I think it’s named for the game show, or something, right?”

Sam whips out his phone to check. “Yeah, Wikipedia says they changed the name as part of a contest, to have the host come do a live show from their town.”

Dean nods easily. “As you do.”

“What was the name before?” Cas asks.

“Hot Springs.”

“Think that means they have some hot springs around?” Dean raises an eyebrow at Cas in the rearview mirror, and Cas can’t help but shake his head fondly.

“Yes, Dean,” Sam answers, unnecessarily, “There are hot springs.”

“Awesome. I’m not leaving here until I’ve had a soak in one.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind paying for the privilege.”

“Aw, man.” Dean pouts slightly, in a way that should not be endearing on a grown man. “What are the chances that Jesse and Cesar have one of their own?”

“I’ll come with you,” Cas offers. “Even if we do have to pay.”

Dean’s face lights up. “This is why you’re the best, Cas. You’ll love it, I promise.”

They drive on, desert stretching endless before them, and sky vast overhead. Dean rolls down the window, and Cas follows suit, leaning his elbow on the sill and letting the sun warm his face.

Sam, on the other hand, gets a mouthful of hair from the breeze. “Oh, come on, you guys!”

 

*****

 

About twenty minutes on the other side of town, they turn up a dusty road, and then into a long dirt drive. Poor Baby is going to need a thorough wash after this. The drive slopes downwards towards the shallow valley where the house and outbuildings are clustered, and the whole ranch stretches out before them in shades of brown and gold, dotted with the green of hardy desert plants. In the distance, a low ridge rises, bordering the creek that can only been seen as a distant glint. The sky above is a brilliant bright blue with only a handful of fluffy, white clouds scudding across it. Cas’s breath catches in his throat at the beauty.

The house itself is a sturdy, low construction in warm wood, with a wraparound porch. Between the house and the barn, the drive widens out to provide extra parking beside a large pickup truck and a dusty four-wheeler. Beyond that is a large paddock housing several horses and a dark-haired man who is making repairs to a section of the fence. He straightens up as the Impala rumbles to a stop and makes his way over to meet them as they climb out of the car and stretch their limbs.

“Hey, Cesar,” Dean greets him first, with a back-clap and a firm handshake. “You’re looking good. Ranching suits you.”

Cesar’s eyes crinkle as he grins. “Well, Jesse certainly seems to think so.”

Cas takes a moment to examine the man. He’s a little shorter than Dean or Cas himself, but sturdily built. His skin is tan, his eyes and hair are dark, and there’s just a bit of grey in his neatly trimmed beard. He is, as Dean says, looking good.

Dean chuckles at Cesar’s comment as he releases his hand. “You remember Sam.” His brother rounds the front of the car.

“Good to see you.” Cesar shakes Sam’s hand.

“And this is Cas,” Dean introduces him, urging him forward with a hand hovering just over his shoulder.”

Cesar offers his hand. “The angel, right? We’ve heard of you.” Out of the corner of his eye, Cas sees Dean’s smile fall.

“Uh,” he says, returning the handshake automatically, “Not anymore.”

Cesar falters, glancing from Cas to Dean, the over to the awkward look painted on Sam’s face. “My bad. But it’s nice to meet you.” He gestures towards the house. “Why don’t you put your bags inside? Jesse’s out by the ridge with some of the horses, but he’ll be back in time for dinner and we can talk about the case then.”

He leads the way. Inside, the house is decorated in earth tones, with warm wooden furniture. In the living room, a colourful braided rug covers most of the tile floor. There are framed photographs on the walls and standing on some on the shelves. Other shelves are lined with paperbacks. The couch is a large, comfortable-looking chocolate brown sectional. It reminds Cas that Dean had been talking about getting a sofa for his ‘Dean cave’ before Lucifer and Michael’s reappearance from the other world had derailed everything. He makes a note to suggest it when they return home.

There’s a washroom by the entryway, and beyond that, the combined kitchen and dining room. Afternoon sunlight streams in through the large windows and the sliding glass back door. There’s a large slab dining table, and the kitchen itself is spacious, with gleaming new appliances.

“I like to cook,” Cesar explains with a shrug. “After all the years on the road, what I wanted was a good kitchen.”

“I get it,” Dean agrees, practically salivating over the setup. Cas wouldn’t put it past him to finagle his way into helping with meals while they’re here in order to get his hands on this kitchen.

Cesar leads them back through the living room to an open door which turns out to be an office. At the end of the hall is the master bedroom, another bathroom, and between that and the office, a guest room.

“We’ve only got the one guest room,” Cesar explains apologetically, “so two of you are gonna need to double up, and someone will have to take the couch. Don’t worry, it’s pretty comfortable.”

“Dibs on the couch,” Sam declares before Dean or Cas can put their two cents in. With the sectional, it will be plenty long enough for his body.

Cas tries to hide his dismay. He remembers the dream he had last night, the dreams he’s had every night since becoming human. He remembers waking up with tears on his face, and shudders to think of Dean discovering them, seeing the evidence of Cas’s weakness.

Worse, what if he latches on to Dean in his sleep? What if he clings to him like he had wanted to when Dean had first made that terrible suggestion? Dean would not like that, of that much he is sure.

And then there are the other perils of sharing a bed—the all-too-human ones. Cas could snore or drool or talk in his sleep, all embarrassing, he is sure. Or his body could betray him, act on the attraction he feels for Dean, already so much harder to ignore without his grace to suppress it.

He glances over at Dean, who is worrying his lip between his teeth, looking equally wary at the prospect of sharing a bed. Despite his own misgivings, Cas feels a twinge of pain at that.

Dean’s attempt at a reassuring smile is not entirely believable, but he moves to bump his shoulder against Cas’s, only stopping himself at the last moment. “I’m sure it won’t be so bad. I promise not to kick you in my sleep, if you promise not to hog the blankets. Deal?”

Cas swallows. “Deal,” he agrees, hoping he sounds more certain than he is.

Cesar shows them where to find towels and extra pillows and leads them back to the living room. “I should get started on dinner. Make yourselves at home. Jesse will be back soon.”

“Want a hand in the kitchen?” Dean offers.

“You know anything about Mexican food?” Cesar asks.

Dean shrugs. “I made tamales for Death once.”

Cesar shakes his head. “You Winchesters. So, all the crazy stories are true?”

“And then some.” Sam laughs ruefully. “Mind if I get the Wi-Fi password? I can do some research while you and Dean are cooking.”

Cesar rattles off the password. “How about you, Castiel?” he asks. “You any good in the kitchen?”

Cas shakes his head. “I’ve never had much occasion to learn. I’m sure I can find something to occupy myself.” He could swear he sees disappointment flicker across Dean’s face, but that doesn’t make any sense, so he ignores it.

Cesar seems unfazed. “Shout if you need anything.”

He and Dean disappear into the kitchen, and Sam sets up on the couch with his laptop on the coffee table. It looks like an uncomfortable position, but who is Cas to judge? Despite his claim that he could occupy himself, Cas finds himself at loose ends.

He ends up drifting around the room, examining the photos on display. There’s a picture of a young Cesar with his parents, and one of two boys whom Cas assumes are Jesse and his brother, but the majority of the photos are of Cesar and a bald, bearded man who must be Jesse, together. Some are recent, taken in front of the ranch house, or with their horses, but just as many are from their hunting days. There’s a familiarity in how they touch, how they look at each other, in these photos that sets something to aching within Cas’s chest.

It’s what he wants with Dean, he knows. What he wants, and what he can never have; not when the world seems determined to take Dean from him.

He’d begged Dean, pleaded with him not to go, not to let Michael in, but in the end had had to concede that there was no other way.

 _Besides,_ he reminds himself, _he doesn’t want you that way._

Because there’s that: Castiel is in love with Dean in that deeply, messy human way, and Dean just doesn’t feel the same.

 

*****

 

As they lay out the ingredients for enchiladas rojas, Cesar comments, “I hope I didn’t offend Castiel earlier.”

Dean makes a thoughtful noise, accepting the chilies that Cesar hands him to de-seed. “You mean with the angel thing?”

“Yes. I hadn’t heard that he was no longer an angel, but it was insensitive.”

“Yeah, it’s… kind of new.” Dean purses his lips. “I mean, he’s been human before, but this time it’s permanent, y’know?” He frowns and admits, “He hasn’t really said how he feels about it, but he’s got to be struggling.”

“It wasn’t a choice, then?” Cesar asks as he starts on the chicken for the filling.

Dean looks at him sharply. “Why would you think it was a choice?”

“Oh, you know,” Cesar gives him an eloquent shrug and a speaking look. “Maybe he wanted to spend his life with the people he cares about.”

Dean feels a flush rising, but as much as he wishes that Cas’s humanity was because he chose Dean—chose them all—that’s just not the case. “It was a stupid bit of self-sacrifice, is what it was,” he grumbles. He sets the chilies aside to be boiled and picks out an onion next. “He could have taken his grace back, but instead he used it up to save my sorry ass.”

“Ah, Cesar smiles enigmatically, “so he did it for you?”

“It’s a long story, but yeah, basically. What a goddamn waste.” His fingers tremble and he has to put down his knife as he remembers the heat of Cas’s grace filling him, Cas pressing it directly into his soul. It had burned and cleansed and healed, and all he could think of was _no Cas, don't give this up for me._

It’s a good thing he’s chopping onions, because there are tears in his eyes that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. He moves to the sink and lets the cold water run, leaning over it until his vision clears and his eyes stop stinging. Cesar kindly does not mention it

“You know,” he remarks instead. “I gave things up to have a life with Jesse, and to keep him alive. I don’t get to make all the calls myself. I don’t get to keep the worst parts of me hidden. I don’t get to be invincible anymore. But I’ve never regretted it. Sometimes those things just aren’t as important as the people we love.”

Dean shakes his head. “Yeah, but you and Jesse are married. It’s not like that with me and Cas.”

Cesar sets Dean’s onion to grill, along with some tomatoes and garlic. “Are you sure about that?”

Cesar’s steady gaze is too knowing. It’s obvious there’s no point in denying it, so Dean finds himself huffing a rueful laugh. “Okay, you got me.” He ducks his head. “I’ve got feelings for the guy.” It’s strange admitting it to someone so easily. Even Charlie had had to work him up to it.

He’s known how he feels about Cas for a long time now, and the past few years have only made him more certain. He can never tell Cas, of course, and can never figure out what he’d say to Sam or Mary, or any of the people they’re close to. But Cesar has already seen through him. Cesar doesn’t know the intimate details of Dean’s mess of a life. Cesar, with his loving husband, is hardly going to judge him

He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “How’d you know? Even Sam hasn’t figured me out yet.”

“I wondered last time we met. You were awfully curious about my marriage for a straight man. And now I’ve seen how you look at Castiel. It’s not hard to see.”

Dean chuckles. He hadn’t exactly been subtle when he’d asked about Cesar and Jesse’s relationship. And frankly, he’s surprised that none of the people close to him seem to have picked up on how he feels about Cas, because everyone else they meet sure seems intent upon mentioning it. “Fair enough. I’m bi, for the record. And yeah, I’m head over heels for the guy.” He sighs. “But I know it’s one-sided. It’s never going to happen. Especially not now. So, I have to move on.”

Cesar pats him on the back. “Don’t give up hope. I think you’d be surprised. Now come get started on this sauce.”

As they’re finishing up, Jesse enters through the backdoor. He drops a kiss, casual as you please, on Cesar’s lips before crossing to the sink to wash his hands.

Cesar shoots him a fond look. “Go get changed. You smell like a horse.”

Dean knows he’s watching them avidly. He remembers asking them once what it was like settling down with another hunter. “Smelly, dirty,” Cesar had said. “Twice the worry about getting ganked.” It seems that the smelly and dirty parts, at least, have carried over, but Dean can’t help but be a little envious all the same. They move so comfortably around each other, like they’ve always belonged there.

When Dean had first asked that question, he’d been thinking of Cas, possessed by Lucifer, not even knowing if he’d get Cas back alive. Now, Cas is just in the next room, but Dean doesn’t know if they’ll ever have that comfort with each other again.

Jesse laughs. “You wanted a horse ranch, and now you complain I smell like horse.” He dries his hands on the dish towel next to the sink and turns to shake Dean’s hand warmly. “Thanks for coming. Cesar’s right, I should get changed. I’ll see you in a minute.”

With a last pat of his husband’s shoulder Jesse leaves the room. Cesar goes back to putting the finishing touches on the meal with a soft look on his face. Dean thinks about Cas.

 

*****

 

Cas has managed to tear himself away from his melancholy examination of Cesar and Jesse’s photos, and is instead perusing the contents of a bookcase, when the man he assumes is Jesse enters through the kitchen door. He is sweaty and dirty, and spares only a wave for his guests as he ducks into the master bedroom, but there is an air of satisfaction about him, the kind that a good day’s work brings. Dean has that look sometimes, after a successful hunt, or more often after fixing something around the bunker or a long day of work on his car, but not nearly as often as Cas would like. He wishes he could help Dean feel like that more often.

From the couch, Sam makes a humming noise over his laptop. Cas glances at him over his shoulder, but Sam waves him off without taking his eyes off the screen. “Just wondering if this is a lead. Got to do more reading before I can tell.”

Cas goes back to his browsing. The bookcase contains a mix of English and Spanish, all jumbled together in no particular order. The books are well-worn, spines creased and paper soft from frequent handling. Either Jesse or Cesar, or possibly both, is a fan of classic science fiction, and Cas examines the cover art with interest, marvelling at the future humans had envisioned.

Jesse reemerges just as Dean sticks his head into the room to announce, “Soup’s on.”

“Smells good,” he praises his husband as they all troop onto the kitchen where Cesar and Dean are laying out the dishes. “I’m Jesse, by the way,” he introduces himself to Castiel.

“Castiel.” Cas shakes the offered hand. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“No, thank you. You’re doing us a favour by taking on this hunt.”

“So, you’re enjoying retirement?” Sam asks as everyone begins serving themselves.

Jesse chuckles warmly. “Oh yeah. Wild horses couldn’t drag us back into the life.”

“How about you? Have you ever thought about retiring?” Cesar asks.

Before Sam can reply, Dean cuts in, “I don’t know about these two, but I have.”

Cas feels his mouth drop open. For every time Dean has expressed his belief that he’s going to die bloody, now he’s casually talking about retirement. A bubble of hope rises in his chest, along with a deep sense of yearning—he wants to spend Dean’s retirement with him, wants to grow old beside him, even if they never become more than what they are.

“You’re joking,” Sam says, sounding as stunned as Cas feels.

“Hey.” Dean lifts his hands in a shrug. “I’m reevaluating.” He jabs a fork towards Sam’s plate. “Eat your food, we worked hard on that.”

Sam takes a bite, and his face lights up. Cas follows his example. It’s delicious, better than anything he tried during his previous stint as a human. Falling might be worth it for Dean’s cooking alone.

“Well,” Jesse says, “let me be the first to tell you retirement’s worth it. What would you be doing if you weren’t hunting?”

Dean grins. “Well, you make ranching look like a pretty good deal…”

Both Cas and Sam groan simultaneously. Sam disguises the words, “cowboy fetish,” with a cough.

Dean pouts. “You guys are no fun.” He shrugs. “I dunno. Mechanic, line cook, something I know how to do. Haven’t worked out the details yet.”

They wait until the food is gone to discuss the case. Cas finds he does not at all miss the talk of blood and guts while he’s eating. Then there are dishes to do, too, which he volunteers to help with, and he finds himself with a towel in his hand. Sam washes and Jesse puts things away, since he knows where they go. Dean and Cesar are off the hook, since they cooked, but they stick around to continue the conversation from dinner. Finally, everyone retires to the living room to talk mysterious drownings.

“So,” Sam asks, “how long are the bodies there before they’re found? It sounds like long enough for animals to find them. Scavengers?”

“No,” Cesar corrects, “it’s not that they’ve been there for days and been eaten by animals. The bodies are always fresh.”

“And freshly eaten,” Jesse agrees.

“So whatever’s drowning them is eating them,” Sam surmises.

Jesse shrugs. “That’s what we figure.”

“How eaten are we talking?” Dean asks. “Obviously there’s something left, or no one would know how they died.”

“It’s the guts,” Cesar answers. “A big, bloody hole through the stomach, and everything all torn up and messy.”

Dean makes a face.

“We don’t know what the coroner’s found, of course,” Jesse says, “but I saw old man Murphy’s body when I was working with some of the horses down by the creek. It wasn’t pretty.”

“So we’ll have to get in to see the coroner tomorrow,” Sam decides, “check out the bodies."

“We should take a look at the creek as well,” Cas suggests.

“Tell you what,” Jesse offers. “You go see the coroner in the morning, and in the afternoon, I can take you on a trail ride. I’ll give you the tour of the property and I’ll show you the creek.”

Dean perks up at the mention of the trail ride. “Hell yes, that’s a great idea.”

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother’s predictability. “Let me guess, you brought your Stetson.”

Dean looks offended that he even asked. “Of course I did. This is ranching territory, Sam. Got to be ready to blend in. Cas, tell me you brought your hat.”

“Er, no.” While Cas treasures the ridiculous hat Dean had insisted on buying for him after his last resurrection, he has no intention of wearing the thing again. “I forgot it.”

“That’s okay,” Dean reaches out to pat him on the shoulder, stopping himself before he makes contact. He points his finger to cover the slip. Cas mourns the loss. “We’ll buy you a new one in good ol’ T or C tomorrow.”

Cas has no need for another hat, but Dean seems so pleased about it he doesn’t argue. He spies Cesar and Jesse exchanging an amused look.

“So,” says Sam, getting them back on track, “do you have any theories on what we’re looking at?”

“Our best guess is Ahuízotl,” Cesar says. He pulls something up on his phone and passes it around, so they can all get a look at the drawing of the creature. It’s dog-like, with wicked teeth and a hand growing from the end of its tail. “It’s an Aztec creature who lives in the water and has a taste for human flesh.”

“The tail’s prehensile,” Jesse adds. “It uses it to grab its victims and drown them.”

“Sounds pretty likely,” Dean says. “But you’re not sure.”

“There haven’t been any witnesses,” Cesar explains, “so we can’t be certain.”

“Right,” Jesse agrees. “Geographically and by the lore it’s plausible, but there’s no sense in jumping to conclusions and getting killed because you were prepared for the wrong thing.”

“That sounds like a wise approach,” Cas remarks.

“Sure,” Dean agrees. “We won’t rule anything else out, but let’s figure out how to kill it anyway, in case we need to.”

“How about you?” Cesar asks. “Did you come up with any theories?”

In his element, Sam outlines the various theories they had put together.

“I had wondered if there was some connection to the Toybox Killer, since Elephant Butte’s not too far from here,” Sam says, “but none of the facts really line up with that case, so I’m gonna say that’s a long shot.

“Then we considered a few creatures associated with drowning—rusalka, kelpie, stuff like that. Most of them seem to stick pretty closely to their countries of origin, but it wouldn’t be the first time we came across a monster far from home.”

“That’s a fair point.” Jesse nods.

“Honestly, there are so many possibilities that we didn’t want to marry ourselves to one theory just yet. But we’ll take your Ahuízotl as a starting place.”

 

*****

 

Bedtime is an awkward affair. Sam claims the bathroom first to get changed, which seems only fair as he doesn’t have a proper bedroom, but it leaves Dean and Cas shuffling around each other in the bedroom, waiting with their own armfuls of pyjamas and toothbrushes to take their turns. Dean goes first, and when he returns in sweatpants and a threadbare tee, Cas is already changed and just waiting to go brush his teeth. Dean’s stomach gets that swooping feeling it always does when he sees Cas in pyjamas—nothing drives home more how human he is now, how vulnerable.

The next obstacle presents itself while Cas is in the bathroom. Dean finds himself hovering uncertainly by the edge of the bed. Should he get in while Cas is out of the room? Would that seem presumptuous? Should he wait? But then they’d both have to climb under the covers at the same time. That would be weirder, wouldn't it? While he dithers, Cas comes back to the room and slides under the covers, settling in with a sigh.

He regards Dean through slitted eyes, and finally pats the bed beside him with a weary hand. “Come to bed, Dean.”

And boy does hearing those words in that gravelly voice do things to Dean. He climbs into bed with alacrity, to keep Cas from noticing the effect his words had had on him, and turns his back to Cas, carefully keeping his distance and willing his semi back under control. Thankfully, it turns out that Cas snores—nothing too loud or grotesque, but enough that Dean’s unruly body ceases its clamoring. It’s an endearing kind of snore, almost cute, and if that doesn't illustrate just how far gone Dean is… He lets his mind drift, lets the soft rumble of Cas’s snoring ease him into a doze.

The problem with the desert is that it’s hot. Too hot to sleep in sweatpants at any rate. An hour later, Dean’s dozing is far less comfortable, and he has yet to drift off completely. It’s not going to happen either, not with the sweat prickling against his skin and the sweatpants twisted around his legs. There’s only a thin sheet covering him and Cas, but he’s still too warm. Normally, he’d think nothing of stripping down to his boxers and sleeping like that, but normally he’s not in someone else’s guest room, and normally he’s not sharing a bed with Cas.

He flips onto his other side, tries to get comfortable. He tries to use his feet to untangle his pants. It doesn’t help.

 _Fuck it,_ he decides. Jesse and Cesar won’t even know, as long as he puts the pants back on before leaving the room in the morning. Cas is a different story, but Dean’s too hot and miserable to care. It’s not like he’ll be _naked_.

Moving carefully to not wake Cas, he sits on the edge of the mattress to shed the sweatpants. Despite his efforts at stealth, Cas wakes as he slips back into the bed.

“Dean,” Cas asks groggily.

He freezes, the sheet still raised in his hand. “Sorry ‘bout that, buddy,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

Cas blinks at him in the darkness. “You’re not wearing pants.” His voice is gritty with sleep.

Dean chokes. “Yeah, sorry. I was overheating.”

Cas makes a strange noise in his throat—if Dean didn’t know better, he’d call it a moan. Whatever it is, it makes Dean’s dick twitch, and he mentally orders it to behave. He finds himself watching Cas, round-eyed in the dark. Cas is still more than half asleep though, and soon he’s snuffling down into his pillow and his breathing evens out in sleep.

Even though he’s much more comfortable now, it still takes Dean a long time to fall asleep, watching Cas’s chest rise and fall beneath the sheet until his own eyes finally flutter shut and he drifts off.

He wakes sometime in the middle of the night. At first, he’s not sure what woke him, but then Cas makes a low, pained noise in his sleep. Dean turns to face him, and his heart clenches when he sees the moonlight from between the curtains reflected in tear tracks on Cas’s cheeks.

Dean curls his hands into fists, aching with the need to reach out and touch him, comfort him. Cas makes another noise, nearly a sob this time, and Dean’s hand creeps involuntarily across the covers to land on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

“Dean?” Cas mumbles half-asleep, and Dean panics and freezes, his hand burning where he’s touching Cas, even with the sheet in the way.

Before he can retract it, Cas fumbles his own hand out from beneath the covers and latches on. Tucking their clasped hands beneath his chin, Cas sighs and nuzzles deeper into his pillow, falling into a deeper sleep.

Dean swallows the lump in his throat.


	3. Day 3 - Hot to Trot

“Ready to go?” Sam asks, already bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and dressed to play the role of wildlife control, while Dean and Cas are still struggling to keep their eyes open long enough to drink their coffee.

“Hold your horses,” Dean grouses, and Cas grunts his agreement into his mug. In the time that Cas has been human, it’s become obvious that neither he nor Dean are morning people.

Jesse and Cesar are already out of the house, feeding the horses and hard at work on the ranch chores. They’ve agreed to meet back here around one for lunch, and then Jesse will take them on a trail ride, while Cesar continues with the ranch work.

Dean downs the rest of his coffee in one long swallow and rises to his feet, stretching, his socked feet curling on the rag rug. “I’ll go get dressed. Finish up your coffee and you can have the room when I’m done.”

Cas nods over his mug, still not up to complete words yet. Dean eyes the dark circles under his eyes with concern. He wonders if Cas has been having nightmares every night since becoming human. He doesn’t even want to contemplate what Cas was dreaming of.

He’s just buttoning his shirt when a knock sounds on the bedroom door. He calls a greeting, and Cas shuffles in, looking moderately more alert. He wonders if he should ask him about the dream.

“So, uh, sleep well last night?” is his opening gambit.

Cas looks instantly wary. “Why?” he asks.

“Oh, you know,” Dean says. “I thought I might have disturbed your sleep.”

“Oh, no. I slept fine.” There’s a faint blush on Cas’s cheeks, and Dean realizes that if he does remember the nightmare, he doesn’t want to talk about it. He drops the subject.

Cas has gathered his own clothes out of his duffle bag and stands there clutching the bundle to his chest. Dean stares at him dumbly.

“Dean,” Cas says finally. “I need to get changed now.”

Dean takes him in from his mussed bedhead to his thin t-shirt, to his bare feet peeking out from beneath his flannel pyjama bottoms. “Right.” He clears his throat. “Right, sorry. I’ll go.” He backs out of the room, nearly stumbling over his own feet.

Once Cas is ready, they all pile into the car. Sam’s already googled the directions to the morgue, so he navigates. He also takes charge when the morgue tech greets them at the entry, rattling off their cover story with ease.

“We’re here from the state Game and Fish Department,” he explains. “We know there have been a number of animal attacks in the area recently. We think it’s a rogue mountain lion, and we need to examine the bodies to be sure.”

Thankfully, the tech doesn’t think there’s anything weird about needing three men to investigate animal attacks. He doesn’t ask about paperwork either, just waves them into the back with a cheerful, “Sure, come on through. It’s pretty gruesome, though, so consider yourselves warned.”

“Now, the first three have already been buried,” he says as he pulls open one cold locker, “But we’ve got Fred Murphy here, and Loretta Banner.” He pulls out a second slab, this one containing the mangled remains of what used to be a middle-aged woman.

“So, who was found first?” Sam asks, snapping a pair of latex gloves onto his hands. Dean and Cas follow suit.

“That’d be Fred,” the tech answers. His name badge reads _Jason_ , Dean notices.

“So, Jason,” he says, as they move to examine Fred Murphy’s body. “Anything you can tell us about the deaths?”

“Not much,” Jason answers. “They were all found down by Caballo Creek, but I guess you know that. Guess your mountain lion must be holed up around there. Here’s the funny thing, though—not funny like haha, funny like weird. See this,” he points out froth around Murphy’s nose and mouth, “and the lungs are swollen and spongy with water. You’ll see this with Loretta, too. All the victims were drowned before being eaten—before any of their injuries were inflicted, actually. Like whatever it was _subdued_ them first.”

“Huh,” Dean remarks. “No signs of struggle at all?”

“Nope,” Jason chirps. “Some people just don’t seem to know wild animals are dangerous, huh?”

Dean makes a mental note that whatever they’re hunting is something that can keep its victims from feeling threatened right up until it kills them.

“Take a look at this.” Cas draws their attention to the mangled cavity where the intestines should be. “Look at the bite mark.”

Dean whistles. “That’s big. What kind of jaw span are we looking at?”

“I’m not sure without measuring,” Sam says, “But that’s definitely not feline. Not canine either. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Let’s take a look at Loretta,” Dean suggests. Sure enough, she has the same mysterious bite marks.

“So, what are we thinking?” Sam asks as they depart the morgue fifteen minutes later.

“I’m not sure I want to rule out Ahuízotl yet,” Cas says. “Some depictions show him with a much larger mouth than a regular dog. But it is strange that none of the victims fought the drowning.”

“Right?” Dean says. “I know if I saw a dog coming for me with a hand on its tail, I’d be running for the hills.”

“We still have time before we’re due back for lunch. We could hit up the library, see if this has happened before, or if there are any local myths,” Sam suggests.

Cas clearly agrees. “The library is this way,” he says, having looked up a map of his own. We can walk there.” He sets off ahead of Dean and Sam, and Dean tries not to notice the way the pants of his uniform fit his ass. It’s a losing battle.

 

*****

 

Cesar catches up to them on the porch as they get back, on his way from the barn. Jesse’s already inside, fixing up lunch. Cesar washes his hands in the kitchen sink and gets to work helping his husband.

Cas tries not to stare too blatantly at the effortless way they move around each other. No doubt honed from years of hunting together, it’s translated into their domestic lives in a way he envies. He thinks about Dean’s words about retirement last night, and wonders if he would be allowed to stay with him, to develop this ease with him.

He must get lost in his thoughts, because soon Dean is waving a hand in his face. “Hey, Earth to Cas. You coming to eat, buddy?”

Cas blinks the room back into focus, and is ashamed to realize that Dean and Sam have taken it upon themselves to set the table while he’s been standing here uselessly. “Sorry,” he says lamely.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean says, softer than necessary. “You’re still adjusting.”

Adjusting to humanity is hardly his most pressing issue—even with his grace, he’s spent years acclimating and he hasn’t forgotten his previous months of being human—but he seizes onto the offered excuse. “Yes,” he agrees. “I’m still not used to… hunger.”

“Well, come on and get something in your stomach, then.” Dean pulls out a chair for him, and he sits gratefully. Dean may be uncomfortable with him since his stint with Michael, but these little moments of thoughtfulness touch Cas all the same.

While they do manage once again to refrain from discussing blood and gore at the table, Sam shows Jesse and Cesar a diagram of the bite marks.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Cesar frowns over the diagram. Whatever made the marks has a long jaw, with sharp teeth ideal for ripping into flesh.

“We haven’t fought Ahuízotl before,” Jesse says, “so we can’t say for sure what its teeth look like, but this doesn’t look canine.”

“That’s what we thought,” Sam agrees.

“Hopefully, we’ll find something at the scene where the bodies were found,” Dean says.

Not having anything to add, Cas keeps silent, but he feels Dean’s eyes on him.

“You doing okay there?” Dean asks him in an undertone as the conversation moves on.

The care warms him. “I’m alright,” he promises.

“Good.” Dean sounds satisfied.

 

*****

 

After lunch is cleaned up, Jesse and Cesar lead them out to the barn, though not before Dean makes a detour into the bedroom to retrieve his cowboy boots and his hat.

Cas had grudgingly allowed Dean to buy him a new hat in T or C, one that is much nicer than the tourist trap thing Dean had found him in Dodge City. He brings it out of the bedroom with him, and regrets it when Cas settles it on his dark hair. Dean nearly swallows his tongue. He’s had dreams that started like this.

Blushing, he adjusts himself surreptitiously, and follows their hosts out to the barn. Now is not the time to be sporting a semi, not before he’s got to get on horseback.

At the barn, Cesar splits off to take care of ranch work, while Jesse helps them saddle up. Sam’s on a sturdy-looking pinto, and Cas on a red roan gelding. Dean’s mount is a curious appaloosa mare, with a dark coat and a speckled rump.

“This is Juniper,” Jesse introduces her. “I think you’ll like her. That’s her tack.”

Dean grins wide and pets her velvety nose. Juniper lips at his shirt. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

A glance down the barn’s aisle shows Cas murmuring something to his mount and making strong eye contact. Obediently, the roan opens his mouth and allows Cas to slip on the bridle.

“Thank you,” Cas tells the horse, and Dean can’t help but smile at his solemn tone.

Jesse has finished saddling up his own mount, a chestnut mare by the name of Balsam. As he passes by Sam, he gives his horse a nudge in the belly, causing the pinto to release the breath he was holding so that Sam can cinch the girth tighter.

“You gotta know their tricks,” he explains.

Once they’re all ready, they mount up and ride out into the bright afternoon sun.

“We’ll start out towards the west,” Jesse says. “There’s a good natural hot spring up there.”

Dean cheers internally and turns to pump a fist in Cas’s direction. Cas’s eyes crinkle beneath the brim of his hat, and that’s as good as a grin.

Jesse continues, “Then I'll take you around the back forty, and we’ll circle over to the south. Part of the creek follows along the border of our property. There’s a ridge that overlooks it that we’ll ride along.”

“Sounds good,” Sam says.

“The bodies have actually been found just a bit downstream from our land, so I’ll take you there to look around. They’ve been up and down a stretch of the creek, no real pattern,” Jesse explains.

“Well, lead on,” Dean encourages.

They lapse into an easy silence as they ride along. Dean steals glances at Cas, looking so at ease on his horse, and his heart swells. The guy never gets a chance to relax. Sure, they’re on a case, but the beauty of the land and the open sky seem to be as good for him as Dean had hoped.

It’s a cloudless day, and the sky is a deep azure that reminds Dean of Cas’s eyes—and who is he that he’s getting sappy about a pair of eyes? Hills rise in the distance, and though it's dry, hardy, scrubby brush adds pops of green.

The trail leads up and around a low rise, and on the other side of the hill, they find the hot spring. The hill forms a sort of C-shape, sheltering the steaming water. A pair of wooden benches, clearly handmade with skill, are placed on an inviting angle. Nearby, the branches of a pinyon pine cast a short shadow.

Dean whistles low. “It looks awesome.”

“Dean was hoping to be able to visit a hot spring while we’re here,” Cas tells Jesse.

“Well, you’re welcome to use this one anytime, all of you.”

“Thanks,” Sam says. “We appreciate it. We could all use a little relaxing.”

They ride on, marvelling at the natural beauty of the land. Here and there, they come across little bands of Jesse and Cesar’s horses, looking wild and free.

The trail winds up another hill, this one a little steeper. From the top, they have a marvellous vantage over the whole of the ranch and the surrounding properties. A thin, silver ribbon snakes across the land—Caballo Creek. From up here, it looks innocent.

They follow the trail back down, until it becomes a low ridge overlooking the creek.

As they ride along the ridge, Dean spies a shape along the water’s edge. As they draw closer, he can make it out, a magnificent, black stallion, sleek and gleaming in the late afternoon sun. It raises its head to regard the riders, intelligence clear in its gaze, even from this distance. Dean lets out a low whistle.

“Now that is a magnificent horse if I’ve ever seen one. He one of yours?”

Jesse shook his head. “Not one of ours. That bit belongs to our neighbours. I can’t say I’ve ever seen him before. He must be new. I think I remember Raul saying he was getting some new blood. He did good with this one.”

“I’ll say.” Dean has trouble tearing his gaze away from the horse. He feels a strange urge to get closer and touch it.

Juniper dances in place, setting the metal on her tack to jingling and bringing Dean back to himself. “Huh.” He gives himself a shake. He must still be tired from Michael’s possession if he’s zoning out like this. Best not to worry Cas or Sam.

The black horse moves upstream, in the opposite direction from them. They ride along, until Jesse indicates a large boulder by the edge of the water. “This is where Loretta’s body was found.”

They dismount and set to investigating.

 

*****

 

Climbing into bed next to Cas is no less nerve-wracking the second night. Dean’s dreamed for years of having Cas in his bed, but this isn’t how he meant it.

He’s thankful that last night wasn’t plagued by nightmares. With the amount of horrors he’s seen in his life, they aren’t uncommon, but he would hate for Cas to have to deal with the aftermath, not when he’s clearly having nightmares of his own. And worse, he doesn’t want to dream of Michael—of what Michael did to Cas—while Cas is right there in the bed. What if he—what if he hurts him?

Despite his worries, the trail ride and the desert air have worn him out, and Dean drifts off sooner than expected. He’s out even before Cas’s breaths even out into sleep.

He doesn’t have nightmares. Instead, he has a strange dream featuring the black horse from earlier. It stands waiting on the ridge as he approaches, and canters away when he comes close. He follows, and it stops to watch. It canters away once more, into the creek, its hooves stirring up eddies of water.

He wakes with a powerful urge to go find it, but then Cas makes a noise in his sleep.

He’s having another nightmare, Dean realises, his purpose forgotten as he takes in the wet streaks across his face. Christ, he hates to see Cas hurting and scared.

“You’re okay,” he croons to him quietly, not knowing what else to do. “I’m here with you. I’ve got you.”

Slowly Cas’s breathing steadies and his body loses its tension. He melts back into the sheets with a little snore, and Dean melts along with him. He watches Cas through slitted eyes for as long as he can, until he too, succumbs to sleep


	4. Day 4 - A Horse of a Different Colour

The next morning is spent on research, Dean looking into ways to kill the Ahuízotl, if that is indeed what they are facing, while Cas and Sam dig in to a few local myths that seemed promising when they uncovered them in the library yesterday. Cas looks up from time to time, fascinated by the way Dean taps the end of his pen against his lips. At one point, he pauses so long that Sam clears his throat and gives him a quizzical look. Cas jumps, and sheepish, ducks his head back over his book.

Dean takes a break to prepare lunch for themselves and their hosts—simple sandwiches, but piled high with fresh ingredients and with a spicy spread that Dean made himself. Jesse and Cesar come tramping in around twelve-thirty, sweaty and smelling faintly of horses, but clearly invigorated and happy. It doesn’t take long for the group to polish off the food, and as they’re finishing up, a phone rings.

Jesse takes the call, and his face grows shadowed, his frown deepening the longer he listens.

“Thanks for letting us know, Sheriff.” Jesse hangs up the phone with a grim click.

“What’s up?” Cesar asks him, laying a hand on his arm.

“They’ve found another body, right on the border of our land this time.”

“Well, crap,” Dean speaks for them all.

“Is It someone you knew?” Cas asks, wishing his question were more tactful.

“Not this time,” Jesse responds. “Our neighbours the Kiefers run a dude ranch. It was one of the tourists, here with his family.”

“I guess we should head over and do interviews,” Sam suggests. “Maybe someone saw something.”

Jesse and Cesar still have work to do, so they give them directions and head back out.

“Alright,” Dean stacks up the plates and carries them to the sink. “I’ll wash these when we get back. Let’s go suit up.”

Dean’s been making a point of changing for bed in separate rooms, but it seems silly for one of them to have to wait for Sam to finish with the bathroom when there’s a case to investigate, so Cas begins unbuttoning his shirt as he follows Dean into the bedroom. Dean turns to hand him his clothes and does a double-take.

“Oh, okay, I guess I’ll—”

“Just get dressed, Dean,” Cas sighs. “I promise not to watch you.” He hates that Dean is so uncomfortable with him now, but he accepts the clothing. As he turns his back, the last thing he sees is the red tips of Dean’s ears.

Once they’re all dressed, with no further incident, they pile into the Impala and head down the road to the neighbouring dude ranch. They’re still posing as wildlife control, tracking down a rogue predator. Dean takes on the local police presence, charming them with easy grins and careless camaraderie, while Sam chats with the older couple who own the ranch. The victim’s family is around here somewhere, but Cas thinks it’s best if he lets Dean or Sam handle their grief. He knows he sometimes comes across as wrong-footed and awkward, so he thinks it’s best to let the Winchesters handle delicate emotional situations. Instead, he takes it upon himself to interview some of the other guests of the ranch.

Unfortunately, while the guests are rightfully horrified, none of them have any particular insight to add. He finishes up with a second group of guests and looks around for someone else who will talk to him. His eyes fall on Dean, who is crouched down and talking to two kids. They aren’t part of the victim’s family, thankfully, but they’re clearly shaken by coming so close to death. Dean is treating them gently, soothing their fears. He says something, and the younger one laughs. Cas melts a little at the sight. Just then, Dean looks up and catches his eye, and Cas can't look away.

The older child tugs on Dean’s sleeve, and the moment is broken. Cas becomes aware of a conversation behind him.

A woman, the victim’s wife is sobbing into the arms of another woman who resembles her—her sister, Cas thinks. “It’s all my fault. He was so adamant about finding that damn horse again, and I just wanted to sleep in. I sent him out there on his own. I could have dragged him out of the water.” She bursts into a fresh peal of sobbing, but Cas’s attention has been caught by something she said.

“A horse?” he asks, and the sister shoots him a hostile look.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but it could be important for tracking down the animal.” His mind is busy putting the pieces together.

The sister still looks suspicious, but she answers, “There was this horse we passed while we were on our trail ride yesterday. A big, black stallion. It was pretty cool, I guess, but Greg got really obsessed with it, kept talking about it through dinner. He got this idea in his head that he was going to go take a better look this morning. I don’t know what the hell he was thinking.” She shrugs. “I don’t know how that will help you, but there you go.” She pats her sister’s back. “There, there. Let’s get you a nice sleeping pill, huh? I’m going to get her inside.” She helps her sister to her feet.

“Of course.” Cas nods to her. “You’ve been very helpful.”

She looks dubious, but escorts her sister inside the house. Cas looks around. Sam is still speaking to the owners of the ranch, and the sheriff has joined them, but the children Dean was speaking to have returned to their parents. Cas looks around for him and finally sees him leaning up against a fencepost, chatting up a farmhand.

She’s pretty, Cas realizes with a pang as he approaches. He considers holding back, giving Dean time to flirt, but he has information that will help the hunt. He clears his throat as soon as he’s within earshot, and Dean whips around, his face lighting up.

“Hey, you got something?” he asks. To the woman, he adds, “Looks like I’ve got to go. Thanks for the information.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Cas says as they step away together.

“You weren’t interrupting anything. She was telling me about the coyotes in the area, but we already know that’s not what we’re dealing with.”

“She was pretty.”

Dean glances at him oddly. “I guess so. Didn’t think you noticed things like that. Is it a human thing?”

Cas frowns at him. “I’ve always been perfectly capable of ascertaining the aesthetic qualities of humans.”

“And what, none of us have been to your taste before?” Dean teases, but something shutters in his face. “Are you interested in her, Cas? Because I could have introduced you.”

Cas squints at him. Dean is unnecessarily perplexing. “I’m not interested in her. I thought you might be.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “No. Not interested. I'm more interested in you. What you have to say, I mean. I’m assuming you have something to say.”

Cas welcomes the change of subject. “Yes. I think we need to revisit the kelpie theory.” He explains what the victim’s sister-in-law told him about the horse he’d been so fascinated with.

Dean runs a hand over his mouth. “That sounds an awful lot like the horse we saw yesterday, doesn’t it?”

Cas agrees.

“Well, shit. I guess we’ve got a kelpie on our hands. Let’s get Sam and regroup back at the ranch.”

Jesse and Cesar are still out working with the horses when they get back, so Dean and Cas fill Sam in on their kelpie theory.

“I think you’re onto something,” Sam agrees. “But what’s a kelpie doing in New Mexico?”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe it didn’t like the weather in Scotland.”

“And don’t they normally like deep water?”

“While that is what most of the lore says,” Cas agrees, “it is possible that the lore is wrong. The evidence points strongly to a kelpie.”

“The important question,” Dean says, “is how do we gank it?”

“It’s technically a faery creature, right?” Sam looks to Cas to confirm. “So, iron?”

“It seems likely. It’s a highly intelligent creature, though, so I don’t know how we’ll manage to take it by surprise.”

“Someone’s got to ride it,” Dean suggests.

“Are you crazy?” Sam demands, correctly guessing that Dean intends to ride the creature himself. “If you get on its back, it will drown you.”

“Not if I stab it first.”

“No,” Cas objects. “There’s no reason for you to be putting yourself in danger.”

“Oh, come on, Cas. Someone’s got to stop it before it kills anyone else.”

“It’s a terrible plan.”

“What better way to trick it than to let it think it’s got me in its thrall, hm?”

Cas huffs. “I can name several.”

“Well, what are they?”

“Anything that doesn’t involve throwing yourself at death!”

“‘Cause that’s ever stopped you. C’mon, Cas,” Dean cajoles. “Think of the bragging rights. I rode a kelpie and lived. It’ll be the new rodeo event, like a bucking bronco, but even cooler.”

“Yeah, you'll look real cool when you get murdered by a horse, Dean.” Sam snorts.

“I’m not going to get murdered by a horse. You two will be right there with your own knives in case anything goes wrong. The rate this thing has been killing, I want to get it dealt with before it gets anyone else.”

“Fine,” Sam sighs.

Cas still hates the idea, but he closes his eyes and relents.

 

*****

 

They decide to put their plan into action the next morning. The kelpie’s previous victims have been killed shortly after dawn, before the heat of the day, so it’s likely it will be around and looking for a fresh meal. Since they’ll be up early, they make an early night of it, turning in not long after nightfall.

After two nights of sharing a bed, Cas is more or less resigned to it. He knows he’s been having nightmares, but Dean hasn’t brought them up in the light of day, for which Cas is grateful. What is a struggle is lying down next to Dean in this intimate space, and not reaching out to him, not aching at the distance between them.

Cas’s dreams that night are as unsettled as they have been since he became human. Michael is there, twisting Dean’s beloved face into a sneer, but he transforms into a black stallion and gallops away, Dean trapped on his back, and Cas chasing frantically after him, never able to catch up. Then there is a blinding light and blood, so much blood.

“Don’t you touch him, you bastard!”

It’s Dean’s voice that rips him from the nightmare, and he realizes that Dean is trapped in a dream as well.

“Cas,” he says, low and desperate, and then, “I’m sorry.” Cas feels a wave of cold as he realizes that Dean is reliving the same moment as Cas just was, the archangel blade plunging into his belly and all that white light streaming out.

“Dean,” he shakes him by the shoulder, leaning over him, needing to pull him from the memories.

Dean sits up with a gasp, his eyes searching out Cas’s face in the dark. He lifts trembling fingers to barely hover over the fresh scar at Cas’s throat. “Cas, not your grace.”

“Dean?” Cas pleads. “Dean, you’re awake. It’s over. Michael’s gone.”

“What?” Dean’s lips part over the syllable.

“You were dreaming.”

“Yeah, I—I get that. Shit.” Dean rubs a hand over his eyes. “I—when he cut your throat... I couldn’t let him do it.”

Cas doesn’t know how to respond to that. Dean is so _good_ , so giving, so ready to protect, and Castiel loves him fiercely for it. His heart clenches with the urge to tell him. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

But Dean would not appreciate that.

“You’re a good man, Dean,” Castiel settles for, and even that is enough to make Dean flush in the dim moonlight that filters in through the curtains.


	5. Day 5 - Couldn’t Drag Me Away

“This is still a terrible idea,” Cas grumbles over coffee the next morning.

Dean just grunts at him. It’s not like he’s relishing climbing on the back of a killer pony at ass o’clock in the morning, but it’s the best idea they have. He wants My Little Pony put down before it hurts anyone else. But first, caffeine. He downs his mug and fills it up a second time. He thinks Cas might already be on his third cup.

Marginally more awake, they trudge out to the barn with Sam to saddle up their mounts. They’ve decided to approach on horseback to avoid alerting the kelpie with the noise of the four-wheeler. They choose the same horses as they had for the trail ride and get them ready to go. This time, Sam remembers Jesse’s trick to stop his mount from holding his breath.

The air is still on the cool side when they head on their way, a nice change from the desert temperatures they’ve been enduring. The sky is still streaked with pink as well, slowly fading as the sun rises higher. They head directly for the creek this time, rather than riding out to the hot spring and around the edges of the ranch.

Drawing close to the creek, Sam puts his hand out, signalling a stop. Cas and Dean slow their own horses to a stop and look where Sam is pointing. Sure enough, the black stallion is standing just on the bank of the creek, its head rising to scent the air.

Cautiously, Dean lets himself slide from Juniper’s saddle. He loops her reins back over her neck, and she stands obediently in place as he approaches the creature. Sam and Cas remain tense and straight on their own mounts behind him.

The horse stands calm and waiting as Dean approaches it, no hint of nervousness in its weighty gaze. It doesn’t seem plagued by the flies that nip at the other horses, causing them to toss their heads irritably. Up close, it is even more magnificent, its sleek coat black like an oil slick, coiled power in its muscles. The feathering around its feet is pristine, despite the dusty desert. The air of stillness around the kelpie is nearly mesmerizing.

Dean bites down on his own nerves, trying not to think about the iron blade stashed down the side of his boot. He tilts his hat down further over one eye, trying to give off an air of nonchalance to rival his cowboy idols. Somewhere behind him, he thinks he hears Sam snort, and he glances back over his shoulder.

In his peripheral vision, Dean sees Cas dismount his own horse, landing nearly silently. He hangs back, but his stance is wary, ready. Speaking of magnificent creatures.

Dean turns his attention back to the kelpie. He steps closer. Cautiously, he slips his hand into his pocket and withdraws a couple sugar cubes. Sam had tried to argue that they were unnecessary—the kelpie _wants_ people to ride it, after all—but Dean sees no harm in buttering up the creature.

He offers the treats on a flat hand like he was taught, and the horse delicately lips them up, before suddenly crunching them between unnaturally sharp teeth. Dean blinks. He’s ninety-nine percent sure that horse teeth are _not_ meant to look like that.

“Who’s a good boy,” he croons, hoping his trepidation doesn’t come through in his voice as he reaches to pat that arching neck. “You’re a real beauty, aren’t you?”

He _wants_ to ride this horse, he realizes, a warm feeling of peace washing over him. He needs to ride this horse.

“Dean,” Cas’s voice comes at him from far away, but he merely hums and strokes the horse’s flank. He can worry about what Cas wants later.

It’s surprisingly easy to pull himself up and mount the horse in one smooth motion, especially considering he’s bareback. He settles onto its back like he was meant to be there.

He tangles his fingers in that silken mane, feeling like he’s in a dream. The horse begins walking towards the water.

“Dean,” Cas calls again, more urgent, as the creek laps gently over the horse’s hooves. It cuts through the dream haze.

The creek! He gives himself a full-body shake as he comes back to himself. Disoriented, he dives for the knife in his boot a moment too slow, and the kelpie plunges into the creek, far, far deeper than the water should run, dragging Dean down with it.

Water floods his mouth and nose. Murky and green, it stings his eyes. His fingers clasp the hilt and he pulls the knife free, jamming it into the shoulder of the creature beneath him. The creature _screams_ and rears up. Dean tries to throw himself from its back but finds himself stuck fast. _Shit._ He’d read that these fuckers were sticky, but he hadn’t put much thought into what that meant.

Lungs burning, head swimming, he manages to grasp the knife and pull it free, only to drive it home again.

This time the creature’s shriek is unearthly. It rises from the creek, blood and water sluicing off of it. Dean struggles for breath, knowing it’s only a matter of time before it dives again. He tries to make his fingers take the knife again, but it’s Michael all over again. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe...

“Dean!” he hears, as if from far away, as if he is still underwater, and then Cas is there, rushing the monster with his own iron blade raised. He slashes its belly, pulling another enraged bellow from its lungs. It whirls and bucks, baring its too-sharp teeth. Dean, consciousness fading, only keeps his seat by virtue of the magic keeping him stuck to the creature.

A strong hand wraps around his ankle and pulls, but Dean is stuck fast. He wants to say he’s sorry to Cas, he thinks absurdly, black prickling the edges of his vision as Cas grips him more firmly and pulls again. He tries to gurgle something to that effect.

With a scream of rage, Cas drives his blade between the kelpie’s ribs. In a movement that even Dean’s dying mind registers as impossible, the kelpie _twists_ unnaturally, one of its powerful hind legs slamming backwards to catch Cas square in the ribs.

The kick sends Cas flying backwards, slamming into the rocky bank and driving the air from his lungs, but he manages to keep his grip on Dean, finally succeeding in pulling him from the creature’s back. The impact dislodges the water in his lungs. With an indignant whinny, like the shriek of a rusty gate, the kelpie retreats into the creek and sinks beneath water that should have been much too shallow. Its blood swirls and washes away in the current.

 

*****

 

On the bank, Dean coughs and splutters. Clutching at his own ribs where the creature’s sharp hoof had connected, Cas uses his other arm to help Dean turn onto his side so he can expel the rest of the water. A wave of agony washes over him, and he collapses onto his back, staring up at the empty expanse of brilliant blue sky, trying to catch his own breath. Breathing in is painful.

Suddenly, Sam is looming over him, brow furrowed. “Cas? You okay?”

“It’s my rib,” Cas manages to gasp out.

“Mind if I take a look?”

Cas nods, teeth gritted against the pain. Sam’s hands are gentle as he pulls up the edge of Cas’s shirt to reveal a vivid red bruise spreading across his ribs, with a distinct, crimson hoof-shape in the center. Sam prods tentatively at the mark, and Cas hisses in pain.

“We should get you x-rayed,” Sam decides, “make sure those ribs aren’t broken.”

Having choked up the last of the water he swallowed, and mostly gotten control of his breathing, Dean pushes himself up onto his knees, so he can get a better look at Cas’s injuries. “Shit, buddy,” he wheezes, “murderhorse got you good.”

Trying to sit in a saddle is the last thing Cas wants to do, and Dean insists he not risk it, in case his rib really is broken. Cas doesn’t miss him shooting a suspicious glance at his own horse either. Juniper ignores him in favor of trying to nibble a bit of nearby brush.

By mutual agreement, they decide that Sam will take the horses back home, and will return with the four-wheeler Jesse and Cesar keep for ranch work. Dean and Cas will stay behind to keep an eye on each other’s injuries.

They’re pretty sure the kelpie won’t come back, not until it’s had time to heal and regroup, so Cas feels okay about continuing to lie on his back, breathing through the pain.

“How you doing, buddy?” Dean sits cross-legged by Cas’s head and peers into his face as if he can read the answer there.

“I’m as well as can be expected,” Cas replies. “Being injured as a human is unpleasant.”

Dean’s face closes off, but his reply is light. “Sucks, doesn’t it? But we’re gonna get you to a doctor and they’ll patch you right up.”

“I was under the impression there wasn’t much to be done for rib injuries. And Dean, you should see a doctor, too. You nearly drowned.”

Dean brushes off his concern. “I’ve had worse.”

“It’s possible to drown even once you’re out of the water.”

“Okay, yeah, but I know what to look for.” When Cas continues to eye him dubiously, Dean adds, “Look, I promise if anything seems wrong, or if I have trouble breathing, I’ll get someone to take me straight to the ER, okay?”

It’s as much of a concession as he’s going to get, and Dean does seem recovered from his near miss, so Cas allows it. They lapse into silence as they wait, Dean fiddling with a piece of dried grass and staring up at the sky, and Cas taking the time to let his eyes caress Dean’s form.

Dean leans back on his hands, letting the hot desert sun dry his hair and clothes. With his face tilted to the sun, he is radiant. Cas’s gaze sweeps heavily over the long arch of his neck, and despite the pain he’s in, he longs to press his lips to it, to feel Dean’s skin against his.

He doesn’t know how long he’s craved Dean’s touch. The desire to be closer to him, physically and otherwise, grew gradually along with their bond. Humanity only focuses the need. Since Michael, he misses even the careful, measured contact they’ve had over the years.

He lets out a shuddering breath, and Dean’s eyes snap to his, instantly worried. “You doing okay, there?”

Cas gives him a wan smile. “I’ll live, I’m sure.”

Dean mutters something under his breath that sounds like, “You’d better.”

Cas regards him from beneath lowered eyelashes. “You, too.” Dean shoots him a sideways glance, and silence falls once again.

When Sam shows up to get them, Dean scrambles to his feet. He moves to offer Cas a hand up, then hesitates, as he has been every time he goes to touch Cas since Michael. This time, Cas is not having it. Before Dean can withdraw his hand, Cas reaches out and clasps his own around Dean’s wrist. Dean blinks at him in shock, staring at the point where their skin connects until Sam clears his throat. Gathering himself, Dean wraps his second hand around Cas’s, steadying him as he lifts him to his feet.

 

*****

 

They take Cas to an urgent care in Truth or Consequences. Urgent is a relative term, it seems, because it’s some time before he can be seen. After the first hour, Dean mutters under his breath, “Come on. He needs first aid, not second aid.”

“I’m sure it’s not dire,” Cas tries to reassure him, even as he winces.

Dean doesn’t seem reassured. He chews on his lip, as his glance keeps shifting between the clock and the door where the nurses occasionally appear with clipboards to call the next patient. His fingers tap on the arm of his chair.

Perhaps another fifteen minutes pass, before he blurts out, “This is my fault.”

“Dean,” Cas tries again, “it’s not that bad.”

But Dean shakes his head. “It was my dumb idea to try to ride the thing. Every time I try to fix something, you end up getting hurt. First Michael, now this.” Guilt is written starkly across his face.

Cas reaches out a hand to soothe him, but just then the inner door swings open, and a nurse calls, “Mr. Cassidy.” Cas’s fake name. “Is there a Butch Cassidy here?”

Dean forgets his guilt enough to snicker quietly, and Cas narrows his eyes at him even as he gets to his feet. Dean takes his arm to help him rise. Sam moves to follow, but the nurse shakes her head. “The room’s small,” she explains briskly. “You can bring your boyfriend, but your other friend should stay out here.”

Cas glances at Dean, waiting for him to deny the relationship, but all he says is, “You okay out here, Sam?”

Sam shrugs easily. “Sure thing, Sundance.”

“You need my arm?” Dean asks, “Or do you want to walk on your own?”

It’s tempting to lean on Dean, to revel in his first deliberate touch since Michael, but he can’t imagine it’s very comfortable for Dean, and anyway, the hallway is narrow.

“I’m alright,” he promises, straightening with a hiss and wrapping an arm around his injured side. Dean withdraws his hands more reluctantly than expected, and Cas can still feel him hovering just behind him as he shuffles down the corridor after the nurse.

She leads them to a tiny examination room where Dean helps Cas up to sit on the examination table. There’s nowhere for him to sit, so he tucks himself into a corner to keep out of the way.

Even though she’s holding the paperwork that they filled out on arrival, which clearly lists the problem, she still asks, “What brings you in here?”

“He needs an x-ray,” Dean answers before Cas opens his mouth. “He got kicked by a horse.”

The nurse tsks. “Let me take a look.”

Obediently, Cas raises his shirt, wincing at the pulling in his ribs as she examines the heavy bruising.

“Hmmm.” She prods at it gently, making Cas suck air in between his teeth. “Do you think your boyfriend could leave the room for a moment, so we can chat?”

“What the hell?” Dean exclaims. “That is clearly a hoofprint. You think I did that?”

The nurse raises an eyebrow. “Mr. Cassidy?” she asks.

“It was a horse,” Cas confirms. “Dean would never hurt me that way.” The shamed wince that crosses Dean’s face causes a pang in Cas’s chest. The nurse, on the other hand, doesn’t look convinced. “But if you need to hear me say it without him in the room,” Cas concedes, “I’m sure he won’t mind stepping into the hallway.”

“Whatever you need,” Dean agrees quickly. As he squeezes his way out of the tiny room, Cas briefly reaches out and grips his shoulder. Dean’s lips curl up in gratitude.

Once Dean is out of the room, Cas reaffirms that his injury is due to a horse, and this time the nurse seems to believe him. She makes a couple notations on his chart. “Okay, sit tight. The doctor will be in shortly. I’ll send Dean back in.”

“Thank you,” Cas smiles at her and she visibly softens. “I appreciate your conscientiousness.”

The nurse leaves, and Dean returns. “Hey, how you doing, buddy?”

“I am ‘sitting tight’, as instructed.”

Dean pats him on the knee. “Shouldn’t be too long, now.”

Twenty minutes later, they’re still waiting. Cas’s whole body aches. Dean fiddles with the model of a heart on the narrow counter.

With his back still to Cas, he says in a low voice, “You didn’t need to defend me like that.”

Cas squints at him, wishing Dean would look at him, so he could read his feelings on his expressive face. “Of course I did. It _was_ a horse.”

Dean turns to him now, his face agonized, “But I have hurt you. Cas, when I was Michael—I nearly killed you.”

“No, Dean.” Cas reaches a hand out to him. “Michael nearly killed me. You saved me.” Miraculously, Dean reaches back, their fingers brushing, before they’re interrupted by a knock on the door. Slowly, gently, Dean retracts his fingers, as Cas clears his throat and calls, “Come in.”

 

*****

 

The doctor is a short, good-humoured man, with white hair and a neatly clipped beard. He pokes and prods at Cas’s injured side, and clucks his tongue, making notes in his chart.

Dean is preoccupied with their aborted conversation—how can Cas credit Dean with saving him, when Dean is the whole reason he’s human now, human and hurt and sitting in a doctor’s office?—but when the doctor’s questing fingers draw a whimper and a wince from Cas, he has to hold himself back.

“Look,” he says, as restrained as he can manage. “He’s clearly in pain. Can he just get an x-ray already?”

“Dean,” Cas chides in that tone that means he actually appreciates Dean’s intervention.

The doctor hums in thought. “Yes, of course. We’ll get him to an x-ray. Got to see if that rib is broken. Right this way.”

“That’s what I keep telling everyone,” Dean grumbles under his breath, as he helps Cas hop down from the exam table. He supports him as they shuffle down the hall to the imaging lab.

The doctor beats them there and has already spoken to the receptionist by the time they arrive.

“It will just be a few minutes wait,” he tells them, “then someone will call you to the back. When you’re done, you can head back to the same exam room—number two—and wait for me. I’ll go over the results with you.”

 _Great,_ Dean thinks, _more waiting._ Doesn’t anyone notice that Cas is suffering here? Sure, he’s putting on a brave face, but Dean can see the strain in the way he holds himself stiffly in the hard waiting room chair, the pain hidden in the lines of his face.

The only consolation is that—since Cas took his hand unflinchingly at the creek—Dean is allowed to touch him, and he gives in to the urge to lay a steadying hand on Cas’s shoulder. “How you holding up, buddy?” He lets his hand linger just a touch too long, taking comfort in the feel of Cas, solid and warm and alive.

Cas favours him with a smile that’s tight with discomfort, but still genuine. “This is extremely tedious, but I’m alright. Dean, about Michael—”

Dean glances around the room. He’s not sure if he’s looking for an out, or checking if it’s safe to have this conversation. The only other occupants of the room are the bored-looking receptionist and a teenage boy who is favouring his right wrist and doing his best to ignore his mother.

“Cas,” he speaks over whatever Cas was trying to say. “I know you said it wasn’t my fault, what Michael did, but come on. He was only able to do it because I let him in. I shouldn’t have said yes in the first place.” He pleads for Cas to understand the depths of his guilt.

“You had to,” Cas argues. “If you hadn’t, Lucifer—”

They both snap their mouths shut as the inner door swings open and an elderly couple emerge, followed by an x-ray tech wearing bright blue scrubs, her dark hair in a ponytail. She calls for the teenager, and he and his mother follow her in through the door. Dean and Cas wait as the elderly pair consult the receptionist and take their time gathering their belongings and shuffling out of the room. When they leave, Dean lets out a gusty sigh.

“Dean,” Cas says urgently, “you know that you did what needed to be done. Lucifer, what he could have done with Jack’s grace—”

Dean quirks an eyebrow at him. “You argued against me doing it.”

“Of course I did.” Cas sounds agonized. “I hated it. I hated knowing it had to be done. I didn’t want to lose—”

“Cassidy?” Another tech sticks his head through the door. “Come on in.” Once again, Dean helps Cas up, unable to decide if he’s disappointed or relieved at the interruption.

The x-ray itself goes quickly. Dean’s attempts to get answers are thwarted, however, when the tech, a skinny guy who resembles a more dour Garth, simply points at a sign that reads, _Lab technicians are not permitted to discuss results._ Dean does not sulk over that or hurry Cas back to the examination room after.

Naturally, they end up waiting again. It seems that either the last interruption derailed what Cas wanted to say, or else the long wait and the pain of his injury are taking their toll, because he doesn’t pick up the thread of their conversation. He droops quietly atop the examination table while Dean paces the tiny room.

Finally, needing to voice what’s on his mind, Dean starts, “Look, even if you don’t blame me for hurting you, what you gave up for me—”

 _It’s too much,_ he means to say, but of course the doctor chooses that moment to walk into the room, x-rays in hand.

“Congratulations. Your rib’s not broken.”

 

*****

 

Castiel may not have a broken rib, but his ribs _are_ badly bruised. The doctor advises them to ice the injury for the first two days to ease the swelling. After that, they can apply heat.

“And no one could’ve offered him ice at any point?” Dean grouses. “We’ve been here for hours.”

He has a very good point, and Cas appreciates his defense. Nevertheless, he lays a hand on his forearm, the touch seeming to shock Dean into silence.

“Ice _would_ have been nice,” he agrees. “But the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can get some.”

“Right.” The doctor clears his throat. “Make sure you try to breathe normally, and cough when you need to, holding a pillow against your chest. Try to sleep upright for the first few nights. And I can give you something for the pain.”

With a prescription for painkillers in hand, they collect Sam from the waiting room, where he’s been texting back and forth with Mary during the long wait.

“How’s their hunt going?” Dean asks, as they take the elevator down to the pharmacy on the ground floor. “The kid doing okay?”

“Yeah. They did the salt and burn last night. Now they’re just staying a couple extra days to make sure everything’s wrapped up.” Sam turns his phone to show them a picture of a grinning Jack in swim trunks beside the hotel pool. “Jack’s having a blast.”

“Good,” Dean says gruffly.

Cas smiles, albeit tiredly, at Dean’s poorly disguised affection for Jack. “Tell them all hello from us,” he instructs Sam, as they step into the pharmacy.

Luckily for Dean’s fraying patience, that stop goes quickly, and he doles out two pills to Cas, along with a bottle of water to swallow them down.

“You let me know if those make you feel sick or loopy or whatever,” he instructs Cas. “You haven’t had them as a human before.”

“Thank you,” Cas says quietly, and for a moment Dean seems to sway closer, before he catches himself.

“Anytime.”

Dean insists on stopping by Walmart to purchase a number of ice packs for Cas’s ribs, and since those aren’t cold yet, a bag of frozen peas to hold against his side during the car ride back. He drives carefully to avoid any bumps, for which Cas is grateful.

Once they arrive back at the ranch, Dean gets Cas settled on the couch and gets the new ice packs into the freezer, while Sam explains to Jesse and Cesar what had happened. Cas isn’t quite sure if he feels “loopy,” but the pills do have him floating in a comfortable pain-free haze as the activity of the house goes on around him.

He tells Dean this, and Dean laughs. “Yeah, buddy, they gave you the good shit.” He sounds fond.

Cas smiles dazedly up at him. “I’m very fond of you, Dean.” Dean turns a pleasing shade of pink and claps Cas on the shoulder before scurrying off. Sam is laughing, for some reason.

The high wears off gradually, and by the time dinner is ready, Cas decides with some embarrassment to stick to one pill from here on out.

Feeling decidedly more sober with some food in his system, Cas volunteers to help with the after dinner dishes, not wanting to be a burden on their hosts, but Dean catches him moving stiffly and shoos him back to the couch. Moments later, he appears again, this time holding one of the ice packs wrapped in a towel. He fusses about Cas, making sure it’s positioned to best soothe his injury.

Touched by the consideration, Cas lets his hand briefly rest upon Dean’s where it is holding the ice to his chest. Dean glances up, eyes wide and lips parted. After a long moment Dean appears to give himself a shake.

“You need more pills?” he asks, voice oddly rough.

“Just one.” Cas looks away. “And maybe some rest, soon.”

They make an early night of it. Cas tries to assure Dean that he doesn’t need to come to bed just because Cas is tired, but he suspects that Dean is more worn from tangling with the kelpie than he’s willing to admit. They have to borrow extra pillows from Jesse and Cesar, so they can sleep upright, Cas to ease his ribs, and Dean as a concession to avoid secondary drowning.

If Cas had expected the painkillers to make his dreams even more disjointed and disorienting, he is mistaken. Instead, he dreams in the crystal clarity of a true memory.

Michael throws Sam and Mary against the far wall with a crash. They lay there, dazed. Jack is unconscious in a corner. Everything has gone wrong, their plan to expel Michael from Dean a failure, after all this time desperately searching for him. Only Cas faces up to the archangel now, defiant despite the horror twisting his insides as Michael twists Dean’s lips into a cold smirk.

“Well, well. I know all about you, Castiel.” He advances on him, one hand grasping him around the throat and squeezing. “The Castiel in my world was a traitor, too, once, but we managed to fix him. You, though, I think you are beyond repair.”

Cas snarls at him, struggling against Michael’s grip as the archangel lifts him in the air by his throat and raises his spiral blade.

“Castiel!” Mary gasps, struggling to get to her feet.

“Dean! If you’re in there, you don’t want to do this,” Sam pleads.

Cas can’t spare them a glance, staring into Michael’s eyes, praying to see within, even as Michael draws the blade in a cruel line against his throat.

Castiel gasps, the tugging sensation as his grace spills out from the slit in his throat, illuminating Dean’s beloved features in blue-white light, all too reminiscent of Metatron stealing his grace. His eyes grow wide as the grace slows to a trickle, the light still hanging untouched in the air, and the warm, wet feeling of blood takes its place. Breathing is suddenly a necessity, made impossible by the gash in his throat.

“Oh, yes,” Michael sneers as Cas strains for air, for life, for Dean. “You love these humans so much, it’s only fitting you should die as one, don’t you think?”

Blackness swims at the edges of Castiel's vision, so he almost doesn’t notice something flicker behind Michael’s eyes, until he lets out a roar and snarls, “Don’t you touch him, you bastard!” Suddenly, Castiel’s body is flooded with golden light as his skin knits back together and his lungs fill with air. He finds himself staring at an equally wide-eyed Dean.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, but it’s all he has time for before his face contorts into a grimace as Michael fights to take back control. “I’m sorry.”

Without warning, Dean takes the archangel blade and plunges it into his middle, his eyes lighting up and light pouring from his mouth and the stab wound, Michael’s voice a howl that abruptly goes silent as his body crumples limply to the floor.

“Dean!” Cas’s voice is a sob, and Sam and Mary echo him. “No,” he growls. He won’t let this be the end. His grace still hangs in the air, unused, and he gathers it up and _shoves._

Dean’s whole body seizes, the glow settling into his skin. His eyes fly open, wide and wet. His freckles stand out starkly against the pallor of his face, as he prods at the place where his stab wound should be.

“Cas,” he whispers, “not your grace.”


	6. Day 6 - Back in the Saddle

The brainstorming for how to defeat the kelpie now that they know simple iron isn’t enough begins the next morning. Dean fetches an ice pack for Cas along with their coffees, and they gather on the couch with Sam. Cas presses the ice to his ribs with a grateful sigh.

Dean has to look away from him. Despite the early night, he’s pretty out of it this morning, even after downing his coffee in a handful of scalding gulps and heading back for a second cup. He’s unsettled. He’d dreamed vividly of the confrontation that had led to casting Michael out.

He’d watched, as helpless as ever, as his own hands slit Cas’s throat. He’d wrested control from Michael just long enough to heal Cas and plunge the archangel blade into his own gut, happy to take himself out if it meant taking that sick son of a bitch with him.

And then he’d lit up, burning from the inside out, as Cas, rather than taking back his grace, shoved it into Dean’s body instead, using it all up—giving everything up—to heal him. He’s not worthy of it.

But this time his memory had shown him a clear picture of Cas’s face through the haze of being healed, stripped bare in pure relief, tears welling in those beloved blue eyes. Maybe, the thought that kept him awake the rest of the night, Cas didn’t think it was an unfair trade. That thought might be more terrifying than anything.

Jesse and Cesar join them while they finish their own coffees, but they’ve never faced a kelpie before either, or heard of one in this part of the world, and have little to add. Soon, they have to excuse themselves to take care of the ranch work. The other three get down to work, digging through what lore books their hosts have kept, the contents of their own library that Sam has digitized, and whatever the internet has to offer.

“We could call Rowena,” Sam suggests several hours in, when their research fails to turn up any useful lore.

“Does she have much experience with faery creatures?” Cas asks.

“No idea.” Dean shrugs. “But she is Scottish. Give her a call, Sam.”

Sam selects Rowena’s number from his contacts and switches over to speakerphone, so they can all hear. They listen to it ring for long enough that Dean begins drumming his fingers on the coffee table, before they hear the sound of someone picking up.

Instead of Rowena’s trilling hello, they’re answered by a sleepy, “Yello,” in an unexpected voice.

“...Charlie?” Sam asks after a long pause. “You’ve got Rowena’s phone.”

“Whoops.” There’s a muffled laugh and the rustling of sheets, before they hear, “Hey, babe.”

 _Babe,_ Sam mouths incredulously.

“Ugh,” a voice replies in a Scottish lilt. “What do you want you fiend? You’ve tuckered me out. Let me enjoy the afterglow.”

“Phone’s for you,” Charlie replies, just as Dean bursts out, “Are you two sleeping together?”

“Well, no one's getting any sleep, thanks to your impeccable timing.” Rowena sounds clearer now, like she’s taken the phone from Charlie. “But if you must know, yes, we are having a delightful little fling. You know what they say about redheads…”

“No,” Castiel says flatly, “I don’t know.”

“Ooh, hello my little cherub,” Rowena trills.

“You know I am no longer an angel,” Cas reminds her. Dean looks like he’s trying to melt the phone with his eyes, something he can no longer do without the force of Michael behind him.

Sam clears his throat awkwardly. “We actually called for a reason. Do you know anything about kelpies?”

“Oh sure, ask the Scotswoman about kelpies. You want to know what our men wear under their kilts, too?”

Sam’s face clearly conveys that he does not want to know. “We’re serious, Rowena. There’s one outside Truth or Consequences, and it’s already killed five people.”

“A kelpie in New Mexico? How curious.”

“Any idea how to gank it?” Dean asks. “Iron didn’t do the trick.”

“Och, no, a kelpie’s no wee piddling imp to be taken out with mere iron. You’ll need an enchanted blade at least. I’ll have to do the spell. How long will it take us to get to New Mexico, darling?” she asks Charlie.

“Fourteen hours,” Charlie responds in the background.

“And I’m going to need a good night’s rest in there. So you can expect us, oh, late tomorrow afternoon, we’ll say. In the meantime, be dears and go fetch the ingredients I’ll need.”

Castiel retrieves a pen and notepad, and records the list she rattles off.

“Well, toodle-ooo,” Rowena signs off. “If you want to be graced with our presence, we need to get on the road.”

Dean notices that Sam is smiling indulgently when they hang up. “Dude,” he accuses, “she’s dating Charlie.”

“What?” Sam stutters. “I wouldn’t— What are you—? Shut up, Dean.”

Dean snickers. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Sam huffs. “Just go get in the car. We have to get into town.”

 

*****

 

Back in T or C again, they head to the grocery store for herbs, and a farm goods store for horseshoe nails, among other stops. The hardest to track down in the relatively small town is heather essential oil, but they finally find it at the back of a tiny new age store.

There’s still half the afternoon to go when they get back. After a late lunch, Dean fetches Cas a painkiller and a fresh ice pack, and makes sure he’s comfortable and has a book to read, before taking himself off to the barn. Sam stays behind to play FBI and field research questions for Claire, who’d called earlier from a hunt in Maine.

The plan is to offer his help with the barn chores, and Jesse, who’s working with a pregnant mare, is happy to put him to work. Dean spends the afternoon hauling bales of hay and buckets of water, and mucking out countless stalls. Seriously, there are _so many_ stalls. He’d never admit as much to Sam or Cas, but it does make him wonder if ranching is really the retirement plan for him. Still, it’s satisfying work, and his body aches pleasantly by the time they all sit down to dinner.

He can’t help fretting when he learns that Cas helped Cesar prepare the meal, but Cas shuts him down with a stern look.

“I didn’t do anything too strenuous, Dean, and I’m not going to be the one with a backache from shovelling tonight.”

He makes a fair point, and when Dean and Cesar take the four-wheeler down to the creek after the meal, he begins to regret the day’s work—it’s been a long time since he’s dug a grave for a simple salt and burn, and he’s feeling it with every bounce of the ATV’s tires.

The kelpie’s hunting grounds are thankfully quiet and undisturbed, with no sign of the creature about. Cas had predicted that it would take the kelpie around three days to recover from its wounds, and that it would lie low in the meantime. They had texted Rowena to confirm, and she’d agreed with the speed of faerie healing, so it looks like they can safely wait until she arrives to perform her spells.

By the time they arrive back at the house, the backache that Cas had predicted has set in. Dean groans about it as they prepare for bed.

“Here,” Cas holds out a bottle with amusement touching the corners of his eyes. “You can have one of my painkillers.”

He shakes one out into Dean’s waiting palm, and Dean murmurs, “You’re a lifesaver, Cas.” They both colour a little at that.

 

*****

 

Dean dreams.

His hands glide over tanned skin, and his lips catch against stubble as he mouths at Cas’s jawline. Cas makes an obscene noise that goes straight to Dean’s dick.

“Fuck, Cas,” he growls, thumbing at a nipple to make Cas arch against him. He can’t remember how they got here, but everything is touch and heat, and he’s never wanted to make someone feel good the way he wants to do for Cas.

“That’s it,” he urges Cas. “Tell me what you want. I want to make this good for you.”

“You, Dean,” Cas pants. “I just want you.”

Dean dives in for a kiss, drinking deeply from Cas’s mouth, his hand wrapping around both of their dicks and stroking them together. Cas moans.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Dean gasps. Cas moans again, but this time it sounds more like a howl. A howl, that’s strange—

Dean’s eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright in bed, panting and sweaty, his straining cock still wrapped in his hand. Another yipping howl drifts through the open window. A coyote.

Dean lets his head thump back into his pillow and forces his hand to let go of his dick. He’s so close; it would be so easy to stroke himself to completion, and so _good._ But Cas is asleep beside him. He can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

Dean closes his eyes and attempts to regulate his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. He wills his erection to flag.

He lies awake for a long time.


	7. Day 7 - Lead a Horse to Water

The next morning passes uneventfully. Until Rowena arrives, there isn’t much they can do about the case, though Sam does ride out with Jesse to exercise a couple of the horses and make sure there are still no signs of the kelpie. Cas is still achy from his injuries, and Dean’s muscles are sore from yesterday’s barn work, so they stick close to the house.

It’s nice to spend a few hours reading quietly, side-by-side with Dean on the couch. They so rarely get these moments of peace—dare he say, of domesticity. Castiel can’t resist peeking over at Dean from over his dog-eared copy of _Cien años de soledad_. More than once, he catches Dean looking back. He doesn’t know what it means.

As lunchtime approaches, Dean suggests they prepare lunch for everyone, and Cas gamely follows him into the kitchen. After some more than solicitous inquiries into his pain levels (“I’m not going to pass out in the kitchen, Dean.”), Dean is convinced to put Cas to work.

They prepare the meal in companionable silence, bumping shoulders occasionally in a friendly way—Dean jumps the first time they make contact, eyes like dinner plates, but it’s different than his previous reticence in touching Cas. Castiel wonders what has changed. Dean soon settles though, and Cas savours their newfound ease. For the first time in a long time, he’s feeling hope.

The lunch goes over well, and soon Cesar and Jesse are heading back out to the horses. Sam pulls out his laptop for a little delve deeper into Scottish faery lore, Rowena having pointed him in the right direction.

Cas considers going back to his book, but Dean reappears from the hallway where he’d briefly disappeared with Jesse, and catches him with a bright grin. “It’s been two days since you got hurt. You know what that means?”

Cas puts away the last of the lunch dishes, as he asks. “What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t have to ice it anymore, and you can go in the hot spring.”

Cas can admit that sounds wonderful, but—“I have nothing to wear in a hot spring.” It’s something he hadn’t considered when he originally promised Dean to accompany him.

Dean’s one step ahead of him. “That’s okay, Jesse and Cesar loaned us some swim trunks.” He holds them up in demonstration. “Come on, it’ll be good for your ribs.”

Cas accepts the pair of navy swim trunks that Dean passes into his hands. “Will Sam be joining us?”

“Nah, all that steam will mess up his hair.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You didn’t ask him, did you?”

“Come on, Cas. I don’t want to share a hot spring with my brother.”

“But you don’t mind sharing with me?”

For some reason, Dean colours to the roots of his hair. “No.” He clears his throat. “No, I don’t mind.”

“Alright,” Cas concedes, like he was going to do all along. “I’ll come with you.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s grin is wide. “I’ll, uh, change in the bathroom. You take the bedroom. Keep your shirt on for now. We’ll drive over on the four-wheeler.” With that, he disappears behind the closed door, his own pair of swim trunks in hand. Cas follows his example, and heads to the bedroom.

When he emerges a couple minutes later, Dean is already waiting in the living room, holding a bag that contains rolled up towels and a pair of jeans and boxers for the ride back. Cas adds his own spare clothes, and lifts a hand to Sam in a wave as Dean ushers him out the door.

“Have fun, guys,” Sam says, already deeply involved in his research.

The ride on the four-wheeler passes swiftly, and before Cas knows it, they’re at their destination and dismounting the vehicle.

The air around the hot spring is heavy and warm. There’s the faintest hint of sulfur from the water.

“That’s normal, right?” Dean asks, unable to drop the hunter’s instincts completely.

“Yes,” Cas confirms, though he too sweeps his eyes over the area to be certain.

“Good.” When Cas looks back at Dean, he’s already swept his shirt off over his head. Cas can’t help but stare. Yes, he rebuilt Dean’s body over a decade ago, but Dean is even more beautiful now, from his sturdy shoulders to the scars that speak of all he has survived. The urge to reach out and touch does not solely belong to Cas’s humanity, but being human adds a certain sweetness to the longing. He bites his tongue and looks away.

“You gonna get undressed?” Dean asks, after a prolonged moment. “Or, wait, your ribs—do you need a hand?”

Letting Dean help him disrobe is probably not the brightest move, and isn’t strictly necessary, since Castiel had managed to dress himself just fine that morning, but he finds himself nodding anyway. Dean steps into his space and grasps the hem of his shirt gently. “Arms up.” Cas raises his arms as far as he can without pain, and Dean slips the shirt over his head.

He pauses with it still bundled in his hands, staring at Cas with a peculiar intensity as Cas slowly lowers his arms to his sides. The tip of his tongue is caught between his teeth in the way that he does when he is contemplating something. Cas watches Dean’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, and feels a rush of yearning, before Dean raises his head to catch Cas’s eyes and takes a slow step back.

“So whaddya think?” he asks with a casualness that seems forced. “Should I do a cannonball?”

Cas eyes the surface of the pool. “Yes.” He raises a challenging eyebrow at Dean, who laughs, delighted, and takes several steps away from the edge to get a running start.

“Here we go!” In three quick strides, he is plunging into the spring, sending a plume of water into the air and catching Cas full in the face with the splash. He whoops as Cas wipes his face dry. “Come on in, the water’s fine.”

Considerably more gingerly, Cas lowers himself into the pool. The hot water is immediately soothing on his sore ribs, and he lets out a noise that is embarrassingly close to a moan.

“Good, right?” Dean asks, an odd expression on his face.

Cas hums in agreement and lets himself sink back against the smooth rock of the wall. All his limbs go loose and he lets his eyes sink shut. He’s vaguely aware of Dean floating beside him, equally pliant, and he rolls his head in his direction, cracking an eye open. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever felt,” he confesses.

Dean chuckles. “Cas, buddy, we have got to get you some more good human experiences.” A second layer, he tenses, looking stricken. “I mean—”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts him, before Dean can spiral into guilt. With the hot spring making everything loose, the words come easily. “What Michael took from me, my grace, I would have given up eventually. Would I have liked to choose the time and place? Of course. But I will never regret saving you, no matter how often you tell me I should. Do you understand?”

Dean swallows. “You’re telling me you wanted to be human.”

“Yes,” Cas answers gravely.

“But why?”

Castiel doesn’t know how to answer, so he merely shrugs. “In ten years of living among humans, I have felt more fulfilled than in all my millennia as an angel. And humans get to experience enchiladas, and hot springs, and—” _love_ “—all the other good human experiences you’ve promised me.” He shares a smile with Dean, small, but full of gratitude for everything Dean has shared with him, for the fact that Dean is still alive to share his human life with. His heart swells with love for this wonderful, frustrating man, and he chastises that part of himself that still longs for _more._

With a sigh, he lets himself relax back into the water. At his side, he feels Dean do the same.

Cas loses track of time as they float in comfortable silence. Eventually, though, he feels Dean’s gaze on him, and he opens his eyes in response.

“Is something the matter?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I… I just want to get a better look at your ribs, see how you’re healing.”

“Alright.” Cas rises to his feet, so his torso is out of the water, and suddenly Dean is right there, on his feet as well and only inches away, peering intently at the bruise. Tentatively, Dean raises a hand to touch.

Dean’s fingers linger gently over the mottled blue-black skin. Cas sucks in a breath and Dean snatches his hand back.

“Shit, sorry.”

“No,” Cas says, sharper than he intended. “No,” he repeats, softer. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“Cas…” Dean drifts closer, touching a hand to the bruise again. Their eyes lock.

Dean’s hand moves, almost a caress, and Cas lets out an undignified noise, swaying closer. Without breaking eye contact, Dean licks his lips, and Cas mirrors him unconsciously.

“Ooh, hellooo,” a chipper voice cuts through the hazy air. “There you lads are. Samuel told me I could find you here.”

“Rowena,” Dean grumbles, reluctantly putting distance back between himself and Cas while Rowena waggles her fingers. Cas’s breath is tight in his chest, and this time it’s not from his sore ribs.

“And Charlie,” Cas greets her companion more genuinely, despite his disappointment at the moment with Dean being cut short. She gives him a cautious smile, still less than comfortable with the doppelganger of the angel who had tortured her.

Castiel moves to exit the hot spring, but Rowena waves a hand to stay him. “Oh no, don’t let us interrupt.”

He frowns, hands hovering on the edge. It’s true that he would like to stay a while longer—the water really is soothing on his injured side. “But the spell—?”

“Can’t be done until tomorrow anyway, so don’t you worry your wee little head.”

“We just came to let you know we’re here,” Charlie explains. “We’re gonna get settled in, but Jesse and Cesar said something about drinks later.”

“Such charming hosts, aren’t they? But we must be getting back.” Rowena waggles her fingers at them. “Do enjoy your soak, boys.”

 

*****

 

As it turns out, Jesse mixes a mean cocktail. Dean’s usually more of a beer or whiskey guy, but everyone deserves to indulge now and then. At Charlie’s urging, Cesar manages to dig up a pack of cocktail umbrellas, and she insists on popping one in everyone's glass.

“I haven’t had a drink with one of these since the Fire Nation attacked. Let a girl feel fancy.” Thus saying, she pops a bright green umbrella behind her ear.

“You look charming,” Rowena assures her.

“Thank you, dahling,” Charlie puts on an exaggerated accent and their lips meet in a kiss.

Dean shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink. “That is never gonna not be weird,” he tells them, even though they make a strange kind of sense.

“I think it’s wonderful that you have each other,” Cas says. Is that a hint of wistfulness Dean hears in his voice? Is Cas lonely? Dean thinks back to the moment it felt like they shared at the hot spring, and wonders if he could ever hope to make Cas feel less alone.

While he’s lost in thought, the conversation meanders. He tunes back in in time to hear Cas ask how Jesse and Cesar had met.

Jesse takes a sip of his drink. “We met back in 2008. Cesar was hunting, what was it, a rugaru? I was working as an EMT in Brownsville, and we’d had a bunch of weird calls lately. Then in comes this guy—”

“—Asking even weirder questions,” Cesar finishes with a grin. “But somehow he liked me anyway, enough to give me his number.”

Jesse laughs. “It’s a damn good thing I did. This idiot manages to kill the rugaru, but not before breaking his leg out in the middle of nowhere. Instead of calling 911, he calls my cell.”

Cesar shrugs, unapologetic. “I had a monster corpse rotting beside me. How was I going to explain that? You seemed hard to faze.”

“I took one look at that thing, and I just said, ‘I knew it.’ Monsters were real, and I wasn’t crazy. I just hadn’t known you could kill them. I let him stay at my apartment while he was healing up, and when he had, I asked him to take me with him.”

“And I was smart enough not to say no,” Cesar concludes. “We’ve been together ever since.”

Dean lifts his glass in a toast to them. “Kudos to you. You’re living the dream.”

At some point in the evening, Rowena detaches herself from Charlie, while she, Cas, and Dean are deep in discussion about the nerd culture she’s missed since the apocalypse hit her world in 2009 (and which Cas has still not caught up with). After about fifteen minutes, Charlie excuses herself to refill her drink, and Dean glances over to see Rowena flirting shamelessly with a pink-faced Sam, running one manicured finger up the length of his forearm.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Dean asks Charlie when she returns, tilting his head towards where Rowena is blatantly invading Sam’s space, a seductive smile curling her lips. Sam looks simultaneously embarrassed and intrigued.

“Nah,” Charlie waves a hand in an expansive, dismissive gesture. It turns out that this apocalypse version of Charlie regains her erstwhile counterpart’s gregariousness once you get a few drinks in her. “Ro and I, we’re just a fling. And I mean, what a fling! Three hundred years is a long time to brush up on your skills.”

Dean makes a humiliating yipping noise. He’s sure he’s bright red as well. There are some people he doesn’t want to think about in bed, and Charlie and Rowena are two of them.

“I’m just going to overlook whatever that was.” Charlie snickers at him. “Anywho, Ro’s free to line up whoever she wants for once I go home.”

Dean feels something plummet in his gut. “You’re not sticking around? I thought once everyone else went back and you stayed here that you’d, y’know—stay.”

“Yeahhhh.” Charlie gives an uncomfortable shrug. “As nice as it’s been to hang out in a world that’s not been ripped apart by winged dildos—no offence Cas—I’ve got a society to rebuild back home. I’ve really only stuck around to find myself.”

“You mean find yourself-find yourself?” Dean clarifies. “Like soul-searching.”

“No, like Stargate ‘Ripple Effect’-find myself. The me from this world. C’mon, man, keep up.” She smacks Dean over-enthusiastically in the shoulder.

“Um,” Dean says, wondering if it’s the alcohol making him slow. “Come again?”

“This world me. Your me! Rowena gave her one of her resurrection spell hex bags and told her to go lay low. We’ve been trying to find her. I owe it to her, you know? I figure she’s the whole reason you broke up the angelic firing squad for me. Problem is, I’m too good at covering my tracks. Plus, in my world, the internet was destroyed in like 2009. I still used livejournal. So I’ve had some catching up to do. But we’re close.”

“Hang on,” Dean forestalls her. “You're telling me Charlie’s alive? Our Charlie?” There’s a distinct lump in his throat and he feels the start of tears prickling at his eyes. “Not that you’re not great, but _our Charlie_? Holy shit. I take back every nasty thing I ever said about Rowena.”

Charlie giggles. “Oh, I’m sure she deserved some of it.” But she follows up her words by blowing a kiss to Rowena.

“Charlie.” Cas grasps her hand, his eyes earnest. _“Thank you.”_

 

*****

 

Another round of drinks in, and they’re all trading stories of the craziest hunts they’ve been on.

“No,” Cesar cuts in to Jesse’s story. “The thing with the turtle was the time we were after a rawhead, down in El Paso. Monterrey was where we nearly ended up with fifteen dogs. You can never keep the stories straight.”

Jesse snorts, half-sprawled on his husband. “I can never keep anything straight.”

“Right on!” Charlie holds her hand out for a fist bump, without unwrapping herself from Rowena’s side. Rowena had evidently decided that she had Sam sufficiently on the hook for when she wanted him, and was quite content to curl up with her current paramour as everyone got steadily more drunk.

Dean feels a brief pang, looking at the happy couples. Cas is too far away to cuddle, and Dean would have no way of justifying it even if he were. God, Cas looks good like this, though, his face lightly flushed and eyes bright. His hair is more mussed than usual and looks so soft that it’s a good thing Dean is across the room from him, because he doubts he’d be able to resist the urge to bury his hands in it otherwise. And the way his lips wrap around the end of a bottle? Obscene.

“Anyway,” Charlie giggles as she finishes, “is Sam the only straight person here?”

Dean glances around and snorts. He isn’t sure about Cas, but he isn’t disputing it, and anyway, do celestial wavelengths even have genders or sexual orientations? How does that translate now that he’s human? “Looks like,” Dean answers. “Sorry, Sammy.” He gives his brother a commiserating pat on the shoulder, slightly sloppy with the pleasant buzz of the alcohol. It’s only then that he realizes his brother and Cas are looking at him oddly.

“What do you mean I’m the only straight person here?” Sam asks.

“Uh…” Dean points around the room. “Gay. Gay. Gay. Bi. Bi. I don’t actually know about Cas, sorry.”

“I’m much older than these words,” Rowena points out, “but close enough.”

Sam points a finger at him. “Hold up. How did I not know you were bi?”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, dude.”

“You never came out to me.” Now Sam’s eyes are wide and puppy-like, a little blurry from the drinks. “Dean, you know you could have told me anytime, right? You know I would have supported you.”

“Aw no, Sam, don’t turn on the waterworks, man. I didn’t tell you ‘cause I didn’t think I needed to.”

“It’s super obvious,” Charlie confirms. Rowena nods her agreement.

“I’d have known even if Fergus hadn’t told me.”

“I told him he gave it away asking too many questions about my marriage,” Cesar chimes in. Jesse shakes his head fondly, but agrees. Sam still looks gobsmacked that he’d managed to miss what was right in front of his face.

“If it makes you feel better,” Cas tells Sam, “I didn’t know either, not for sure. Sometimes closeness makes us miss the obvious.”

Dean lifts his bottle in a lazy salute. “Didn’t see the forest for the trees.”

 

*****

 

“Did you really not know I’m bi?” Dean asks Cas as they settle into bed. They’re both still fuzzy with alcohol, and Cas lets himself sink lazily into the soft mattress, feeling like he’s drifting on a cloud.

He hums in thought, not quite sure how to explain himself. “I knew you had the potential. I have been very intimate with your soul.” He and Dean both flush at his word choice. “But I didn’t know what it meant—what it meant to you. I didn’t know if you thought about it, or if you even _wanted_ to think about it. You’re very hard to understand sometimes, Dean.”

Dean licks his lips, and Cas follows the movement in the dim lighting. “I’m a simple man, Cas. I like what I like, that’s all. Just because I don’t talk about it doesn’t mean I don’t feel it, y’know.”

Cas keeps his tone soft. “There are a lot of things you don’t talk about.”

Dean chuckles. “Touché. But pot, kettle, Cas.” It’s not an accusation, but Cas feels the need to explain himself anyway. Unfortunately, the words dry up on his tongue.

Unable to speak, and fueled by drunken courage, he lifts a hand to caress Dean’s cheek where they face each other on their pillows. When Dean doesn’t move away, instead seeming to hold himself still with bated breath, Cas leans in closer and kisses him, slotting his mouth softly against Dean’s. With only a heartbeat, Dean kisses back, his lips gentle and slick, moving against Cas’s own.

Cas sighs into the kiss, feeling like he’s floating away. Everything feels unreal, and when they separate, all they can do is stare at each other, wide-eyed in the dark.

“Cas,” Dean whispers. “What was that about?”

Cas’s courage falters. “I—I…” He’s suddenly at a loss for how to explain himself. “I’m very drunk,” he concedes finally, and he’s telling the truth. He’s in no state to be confessing the deepest secrets of his heart.

Even in the thick shadows, he watches Dean’s face fall, and that’s not what he wants at all.

“Dean,” he whispers, the name feeling clumsy in his mouth. He hopes his eyes convey his meaning.

Dean must understand something, because he raises two fingers to gently rub at the soft stubble of Cas’s jaw. “Tomorrow,” he says, “when we’re sober. And after the kelpie’s put down. We’ll talk.” His voice goes gruff towards the end, betraying his nerves, but Cas is just as shaken.

“Yes.” He swallows. “We’ll talk.” What are the chances that he’ll know the right words by then? Maybe, mercifully, Dean will forget this happened.

Not likely. Dean knows how to hold his drink too well. Not like Cas, going around kissing Dean with just a few drinks in his stomach. He closes his eyes in embarrassment.

Dean’s lightly calloused fingers smooth over his stubble one more time, then Cas feels the barely there drag of a thumb at the corner of his lips, before Dean’s hand withdraws. A reedy sound fights to escape him at the loss. His breath shudders.

“G’night, Cas,” he hears, a quiet murmur, and then the shuffling of sheets as Dean makes himself comfortable. Cas doesn’t move, but his head is spinning.

Despite the cavalcade of his emotions, Cas drops off quickly, the cocktails dragging him under.

His dreams, for once, have nothing to do with searching for Dean, because Dean is right there. He’s everywhere, his hands on Cas’s body, his mouth on his throat, their legs tangled together. A thumb grazes Cas’s lips, and this time he opens to it, takes it in his mouth, swirls his tongue around it.

Dean groans, a deep, shaky sound, and Cas revels in it. Their bodies press together, skin to skin, and when he rolls his hips, there’s an answering hardness against his own.

He needs this more than food, more than water, more than oxygen. A bead of sweat rolls down his chest, and Dean's mouth ducks to follow it, tracing around a dark nipple as he does. Cas’s back arches as he pushes into the touch.

“Dean,” he begs breathlessly. “ _Dean. Dean!”_

“I’ve got you,” Dean whispers to him, as his hand traces along a hipbone. “I’ve got you.”


	8. Day 8 - Ridden Hard and Put Away Wet

When a noise wakes him in the early hours if the morning, Dean realizes almost immediately that Cas is not in the throes of one of his nightmares—not with the magnificent way his back arches, or the way the sheets are tented over his erection.

 _Holy shit._ Cas makes the most delicious soft noises, and Dean’s mouth goes as dry as the desert outside.

He clenches his fists in the sheets to keep from touching. Cas twists two handfuls of fabric of his own, as he lets out a sound close to a sob.

Dean’s own cock is achingly hard at the tempting sight, but he resists the urge to put a hand on himself, even to give himself a squeeze to get himself back under control. Cas is dreaming, and Cas trusts him for some reason—

—and Cas kissed him last night.

Cas’s mouth had been the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted—and there was that time he’d tried a croissookie—and had fit against his so nicely. He wonders if that’s what Cas is dreaming about now, and has to suppress a moan. For a moment—

But Cas had been drunk. And Dean isn’t going to take advantage of him. He isn’t going to hurt him again, full stop.

It’s an act of will to force himself out of bed, especially with Cas writhing like that, but Dean will be a gentleman and respect his privacy. He dresses quickly, keeping his eyes averted from the bed, even though he can’t close his ears to the siren song of Cas’s moans, and slips out the bedroom door.

He’s not surprised to find Charlie or his brother still sprawled out and snoring—Charlie on the couch and Sam on the floor, but he certainly hadn’t expected to find Rowena awake and waiting by the coffee maker when he enters the kitchen.

“Good morning, dearie,” she greets him in an undertone, pouring a cupful of the steaming hot beverage as he fetches his own mug from the cupboard. “Coffee? Or do you need my hangover cure?”

“You’re up early,” he comments. He holds his mug out and she pours. “Thought you liked your beauty sleep.

Rowena rolls her eyes towards the living room door. “Have you heard the noise those two are making?” Her tone is unmistakably fond. “Besides, this way I can get started on enchanting our weapons, and we can rid your friends of their pesky kelpie problem. Nasty creatures. But why are you up? Couldn’t stand looking at that handsome angel anymore and not touching?”

“I—What?” Dean protests, even though she’s closer to the mark than he can possibly admit. It was one thing for Jesse and Cesar to see through him. It was another thing entirely when it was Rowena.

“Oh please,” she scoffs, waving an airy hand. “Everyone with eyes can see the way you two are pining after each other, neither daring to make a move. It would be tragic if it weren’t so delicious.”

Dean splutters. “You’re pining!”

“As you say.” She pats him on the cheek like he’s a child and takes a deep sip of her coffee. “I do prefer tea, but this is robust. He feels the same way, you know.”

Dean gulps down a mouthful of coffee. “You really think so?” he asks before he can stop himself, and cringes.

“You don’t survive as long as I have without being observant. Besides, his grieving widow act when Michael snatched you up was hard to miss.” Before Dean can even begin to mull this over, she adds, “But never mind that, and do drink up. As you’re awake, you can assist me with my spell.”

 

*****

 

Armed with enchanted blades, they all ride out to the bend in the creek where they last fought the kelpie.

“So what do we do if it doesn’t want to show?” Charlie asks as they round the last ridge.

Rowena pats the saddle bag that carries the tools of her craft. “I’ve got a little summoning spell up my sleeve, if the horsie decides to balk.”

There’s no sign of the kelpie as they come into view of the creek. They check the ground around the edges of the water, but there are no hoofprints or disturbed dirt to suggest the kelpie has resurfaced since the previous confrontation. They ride up and down a good stretch of the river just to be sure, but in the end, Dean gives the nod for Rowena to set up her summoning spell.

They all follow her lead in dismounting, and she rifles through her saddlebags for her kit, emerging with a metal bowl and a roll of fabric, which contains a number of small vials.

The others range themselves around her, ready to reach for their weapons as needed. Rowena kneels and spreads the cloth on the ground, placing the metal bowl on top of it.

“ _O kelpie, mar a chuireas tu daoine an sàs_ ,” she chants as she upends the first vial into the bowl. “ _Mar sin tha mi a 'toirt buaidh ort thig dhòmhsa_.” She adds the contents of a second vial, stirring widdershins with her index finger. “ _Riseadh bhon dachaigh uisgeach agad_ ,” she intones, as she adds the rest of the ingredients one-by-one, “ _tha mi ag àithneadh dhuit!_ ”

As the smoke clears, the waters of the creek begin to churn, bubbling and swelling over the banks. The water breaks over a majestic head, and the kelpie emerges from the waves, eyes rolling and lips curled back, baring its abnormally sharp teeth, straining as if pulling a heavy load.

Slowly, deliberately, it puts one hoof down on solid ground, and then another. Water sluices off its heaving sides, the creek retreating back within its bounds. The creature fixes them all with a contemptuous eye.

“Alright, you old nag,” Dean grits out. “It’s time to finish this.”

As he braces himself to fight, the air around the kelpie seems to warp. It’s form shrinks and stretches and bends, the horse twisting somehow into a man.

“What the fuck,” Dean mutters, taking in the creature’s new form. The man, if he can be called that, is tall and deceptively thin—lean muscles rippling under his skin. His long hair is black like coal, and dark eyes glitter in his pale, pointed face. A cruel smirk twists the corner of his lips. There is something menacing about him, like lightning about to strike, something fey.

Rowena clears her throat. “Did I mention that kelpies can shape-shift?”

The kelpie’s smirk stretches into an almost feral grin. “Hunters? How very fascinating. And you’re working with a witch. But then, you’re Winchesters, aren’t you?”

“So, you know who we are,” Sam says, voice chillingly calm. “Then you know we’re going to kill you.”

The creature makes a noise somewhere between a tsk and a nicker. “Sam, Sam, Sam. Your mane is nearly as magnificent as mine, but clearly reports of your intelligence are overrated.”

Dean snorts. “You think taunting us is gonna spare you a trip to the glue factory?”

“What’s that, Dean?” mocks the kelpie. “Don’t you want to ride me again? I hear I’m hung like a horse.”

Dean grimaces. “Can it, Bojack.”

Cas readjusts his grip on his knife and circles closer. “Enough. Tell us why you’re here.”

“Oh, but don’t you see?” The kelpie’s tone is butter smooth. “The wide, open spaces, the blue skies, the people who don’t know enough to be wary of strange horses in the river: it’s a whole new world for me to make my mark on.” He grins, baring his predator’s teeth.

“Yeah, I’ve had enough of monsters looking to make a mark on a new world,” Dean drawls, though he feels all the muscles in his body tense. “You’re gonna have to come through me.”

Charlie widens her stance beside him. “And me.”

“Me too,” Sam draws himself up to his full height. Cas doesn’t speak, but his burning eyes say a thousand words.

“How about you, witch?” the kelpie asks Rowena.

She feigns a yawn. “You’re boring me. Frankly, I think it’s time we finished this.” With a wave of her hand, the desert brush springs to life, winding pricking tendrils around the creature’s legs, preventing his lunge.

The creature snarls and throws himself forward, his face twisting unnaturally. “You think these piddly little weeds will hold me?”

He throws himself forward again, shifting into horse form as he does, the tendrils holding his ankles snapping. He wheels on Rowena first, but Charlie steps in front of her, cutting wide with her blade, and scoring an angry red line across the horse’s shoulder.

It turns its wrath on her, and she steps back, letting Sam leap into the fray, digging his knife deep into its withers.

The horse roars and bucks, and Sam wisely takes himself out of the range of its flailing hooves.

Side by side, Dean and Cas brace themselves for the horse to come at them. It turns its big head to fix them with a fathomless, yet deeply malicious stare. Already its sides are heaving, foamy sweat tinged pink with blood. It becomes obvious that it hadn’t regained its full strength since their last confrontation.

As it charges towards them, Cas steps forward, burying his blade to the hilt in its chest. At the same moment, Dean throws himself onto its back, driving his own knife deep into its neck.

The kelpie lets out a horrible, gurgling whinny. Dean clings to its neck and digs his heels into its sides as it thrashes and bucks and plunges, wearing itself out. Wrenching the knife free, Dean draws it sharply across the creature’s throat.

The creature makes a high-pitched death scream, and Dean flings himself from its back just as it dissolves into a puddle of murky, bloody water, which washes into the creek.

Dean hits the ground with a thump and rolls to absorb the impact. He winds up on his back, on dry, hard ground, staring up at the wide, blue sky.

And then he’s peering into blue eyes. Cas crouches over him, examining his face worriedly. Rather than let Cas worry, rather than thinking at all, Dean grabs Cas’s hand and tugs him down, capturing his mouth with his own and swallowing Cas’s surprised noise.

Cas kisses him back, his lips moving against Dean’s, pliant and sweet. “Dean,” he pulls back to say. “What—?”

Dean swallows and gazes up at him. “This okay, Cas? Because I’m serious about this.”

“Dean,” Cas repeats, and his eyes glisten as if tears might be gathering in them. “Yes, this is okay.” This time he’s the one to kiss Dean, and his mouth is demanding and infinitely sweet.

The sound of Sam clearing his throat is what finally breaks them apart. They turn as one to see Sam looking uncomfortable, Charlie a mix of amused and thoughtful, and Rowena looking disturbingly smug.

Dean gives himself a little shake and sits up properly. “Okay, okay. C’mon, Cas, we’ll pick this up later.” The two of them help each other to their feet, trading soft, amused glances all the while. “Damn.” Dean stretches his back. “I really am getting too old for this.”

Sheathing their enchanted weapons, the whole group climbs back on their normal, non-magical horses and begin a slow ride back.

 

*****

 

Dean’s mouth is overwhelming, but Cas tries to give as good as he gets. After their initial kiss, they’d ridden back to the house in time for everyone to be called in for lunch. Cas had felt the weight of Dean’s gaze on him all through the meal, and he knows he was looking back just as often. At one point, Dean’s hand had snuck into his and squeezed, and a whirl of butterflies had taken flight in Cas’s stomach.

When the meal had ended, Dean seemed unable to wait any longer. Still gripping Cas’s hand, he’d got to his feet, and with a sheepish, apologetic glance at their hosts, had announced, “We’re just gonna be in our room. We’ve got to… talk.”

“Yes,” Cas had agreed, “talk,” and let himself be dragged away.

Inside the bedroom, Dean had wasted no time in plastering himself up against Castiel’s front and kissing him within an inch of his life. One kiss turned into two, turned into three, and here they are, drowning in each other’s mouths, clutching each other close.

Despite himself, Cas forces himself to pull back, just an inch or two. His lips immediately long for Dean’s again. “Dean,” he says instead, voice rough. “I need you to know, I—” he swallows against a sudden lump in his throat. “I—”

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean assures him roughly. “I love you, too. I’ve loved you for years. I’m in love with you.”

Cas bites back a sound that might be a sob and fits his mouth back against Dean’s own. “I love you, Dean Winchester,” he murmurs as their lips break apart. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my existence. I would become human for you a thousand times over.”

Dean chokes out Cas’s name, and his eyes are definitely wet now, too. Their mouths slide together again, and when they part this time, he dashes his hand against the tears in his eyes, smiling. Cas wipes his eyes, and Dean cups his cheek, brushing away the lingering wetness.

“I love you,” Dean says again, this time kissing just below Cas’s ear. He trails kisses down the line of Cas’s jaw, down his neck, pausing to nip playfully. Cas tightens his fingers in Dean’s hair, and Dean makes a pleased little noise. “Yeah, that feels good.” He presses a lingering kiss to Cas’s pulse point. “I don’t want you straining your ribs. Why don’t you lie down?”

Cas isn’t as concerned about his ribs, but he’d rather not interrupt what’s about to happen with inconvenient pain, so he toes off his shoes and allows himself to be laid out across the covers, his head propped up on pillows.

“Come here, Dean,” he orders, and Dean is quick to obey, crawling over him with alacrity. Cas moans into their kiss and takes the opportunity to get his hands under Dean’s shirt, revelling in the smooth skin under his hands. He’s still having trouble believing this is real, but the low simmer of arousal in his stomach is making a convincing argument, as is the attention Dean is lavishing on his collarbone.

“Should’ve got your shirt off before we laid down.” Dean chuckles against his skin. “Sit up again, just a bit?” He helps Cas lift himself up, and slides the shirt over his head. He settles Cas back against the pillows and lays one palm flat on his bare skin. He drags it over Cas’s uninjured side, watching hungrily as Cas’s muscles twitch under his hand. His hand is warm and the callouses speak of a life of hard work that only makes Cas love him more.

Cas slides Dean’s shirt up further, feeling the strong muscles of his back. “You too,” he insists, tugging at the fabric.

Dean sits back on his heels and pulls the shirt off over his head. Cas drinks in the sight of his bare chest, his body solid and golden and gloriously human. When he lowers himself back down so they press together for the first time, naked skin to naked skin, they let out twin groans.

“Holy fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes against his mouth. “I need you.” Somehow the old familiar words are filled with meaning, and Castiel wonders if he simply never noticed before.

“Yes, Dean,” is all he can get out through the swell of emotion in his chest. “Anything. Anything you want.”

With one more luxurious kiss, Dean shimmies down Castiel’s body, lavishing kisses and nips as he goes. He pauses to swirl his tongue around the tight peak of a nipple, and Cas practically comes off the bed with a shout at the unexpected sensation. He tangles a hand into Dean’s hair and feels Dean’s wicked grin against his skin.

Dean raises his head to look at Cas. “We’ll revisit that reaction later. For now,” he nips at the skin just below Cas’s navel, “I have other plans.” Deftly, he pops open the button of Cas’s jeans and lowers the fly. He palms Cas’s underwear-covered erection through the opening. “I ever tell you how sexy it is that you wear jeans, now?”

Cas can’t resist pushing up into Dean’s hand. “You haven’t mentioned it before, no.”

Dean chuckles. “Mmm, well let me tell you, it does things to me. But right now, I think I want to see you _out_ of jeans even more.” He waggles his eyebrows in a ridiculous fashion, and Cas can’t help but snort, even as he lifts his hips to help slide the jeans off his thighs.

“Holy shit, Cas,” Dean marvels, running his hands up and down the muscles of his inner thighs. “I need those wrapped around my head yesterday.”

“Dean,” Cas pleads.

Dean swallows heavily. “Yeah, Cas.” He lowers his head to mouth at Cas’s erection through his underwear, and Cas bucks up towards the heat of his mouth.

“Please,” Cas begs, feverish with want. After so many years of wanting Dean without hope, now that he knows Dean wants him back, he doesn’t want to wait any longer.

Luckily, Dean seems just as eager, flashing a smile up the length of Cas’s body. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of Cas’s boxers, he tugs them off, discarding them towards the corner of the room. Cas gasps as his heated erection springs free. Dean buries his face in the crease of Cas’s hip with a groan, and Cas echoes him at the rush of hot breath against his skin.

Dean lifts his head. “God, you’ve got a nice cock, Cas,” he praises, wrapping a strong hand around it and giving it a teasing stroke. “May I?” His free hand walks its way up the sensitive skin of Cas’s inner thigh.

“Yes,” Cas is quick to agree. “Please, Dean.”

Dean makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat and lowers his head to lick a burning stripe up the length of Cas’s dick. Cas’s head falls back on the pillow as his hips lift to chase Dean’s mouth.

Dean spreads one hand over Cas’s hip to press him down into the bed. “I don’t want you hurting your ribs. Stay still and let me take care of you.”

Castiel’s ribs are the least of his concerns, but he _needs_ Dean’s mouth on him, so he’s willing to concede to anything at this point. He nods his agreement frantically, and Dean’s eyes sparkle up at him as he swallows him down.

Cas moans something very close to Dean’s name. Between the glorious wet heat of Dean’s mouth and the heavy weight of his gaze, Cas is trapped like a fly in amber. He watches breathless as Dean bobs his head up and down his cock, his cheeks hollowing, and his eyes never leaving Cas’s own. The hand that isn’t pinning Cas’s hip in place wraps around the base of his erection, and his tongue does something obscene on an upstroke that has Cas crying out and clenching his fingers in Dean’s hair.

Dean’s eyes flutter shut, and he lets out a soul-deep groan at the slight pain. The vibrations send shivers up Cas’s spine. A litany of pleas and praise tumble from his lips as Dean sets a rhythm, licking and sucking, and drawing depths of pleasure from him that he never knew he was capable of.

Dean is clearly enjoying himself, too, and that alone brings Cas to new heights of need. Deans hips shift as he grinds his still-clothed erection into the sheets. When his eyes open, they are half-lidded and softly dazed with desire and love, and that is what pushes Cas over the edge. He pulses into Dean’s mouth before he can even think to warn him.

Dean’s eyes widen as the first pulse hits his tongue, and he swallows Cas’s release down, cleaning him with little kitten licks that makes Cas want to cry with their gentleness. Finally, when he becomes too sensitive, Dean releases him and sits back on his heels, absent-mindedly licking a stray drop of come from his lips. Cas’s cock gives a valiant twitch, and they smile helplessly at each other.

Cas’s eyes are drawn away by the restless motion of Dean’s right hand rubbing up and down his jean-clad thigh, not quite touching the erection that is still straining the denim.

Cas stretches out a hand. “Do you want—?”

Dean swallows and palms himself through his jeans. “You just stay there, let me look at you. God, Cas, do you have any idea what you do to me. Oh fuck…” He bites his lip and gives himself a squeeze.

“Dean,” Cas can hear his voice, more gravelly than usual, “take off your pants. I want to see you.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice is strained, “yeah, I can do that.” He practically trips over himself in his haste to shed his remaining clothes, but soon he’s back to kneeling between Cas’s spread legs, taking himself in hand.

Cas can’t tear his eyes from the sight as Dean strokes himself, little sighs escaping from where his bottom lip is caught between his teeth. Even as he’s journeyed ever closer to humanity, Cas has always considered genitals a little silly, but looking at Dean now he understands the appeal. Dean is, quite frankly, beautiful. His erection is flushed with blood, the head dark where it peeks out as he fists his cock. His free hand kneads the skin of his own thigh.

“God,” Dean pants. “The way you’re looking at me.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Cas breathes. “You're stunning.” He raises his eyes, raking over flushed, freckled skin, his reddened, bitten lips, to meet his eyes, which meet his unwaveringly. “I love you, Dean. I love you.”

“Cas,” Dean chokes out. “I can’t believe—” His fist flies over his cock and he lets out a heartfelt groan. “I love you. So much. Oh fuck—”

Dean comes, his release splashing warm against Cas’s skin. His face contorts in ecstasy, and Cas loses his ability to breathe. “Dean,” he whispers, a wealth of feeling in the word.

Dean collapses forward, his weight on his free hand as he strokes himself through the last pulses of his orgasm. At last he shudders all over, and lowers himself carefully, avoiding Cas’s injured side. He twines a leg with Cas’s and seeks out his mouth with his own.

They kiss lazily, hand cupping each other’s faces. When they pull apart, it’s to rest their foreheads against each other and smile warmly into each other’s eyes. Cas gives in to the urge to trace his fingers over the crinkles at the corners of Dean’s eyes. Dean catches his hand in his own and brings Cas’s fingers to his lips.

“I’m so lucky,” Dean murmurs. “So lucky you want me after everything.”

Cas shakes his head. “Of course I want you Dean. Nothing could change that.”

Their mouths meet again, lips catching and sliding against each other, soft, miraculous.

It’s a long time later when Dean finally stretches and sits up. “I’m going to get us something to clean up with. You wait here.”

He slips on a pair of sweatpants but doesn’t bother with a shirt. Cas stretches out on the bed as Dean leaves and smiles to himself when he hears Rowena’s purr of “Oh, hello,” as she no doubt encounters Dean’s naked chest.

Dean returns with a warm cloth, which he uses to wipe Cas clean.

“Want to join everyone?” he asks, discarding the cloth on the floor. “We’ll wash that and the sheets in the morning.” He holds out a hand to help Cas sit up.

“Yes,” Cas says, taking his hand. No doubt they’ll have to endure some good-natured teasing, but he finds he likes the idea of rejoining their friends _together_ , of getting to be with Dean out in the open. He dons his clothes and wriggles his fingers to get to Dean take his hand again. “Let’s go.”

 

*****

 

The sun sets over the desert, painting everything in brilliant shades of red and orange. Dean and Cas press together on a wooden bench, sipping beers, while next to them, Cesar wraps an arm around Jesse’s shoulders. Charlie and Sam lean against the porch’s wooden railing, with Rowena perched nearby, a little glass of sherry in hand.

In the paddock, the horses are silhouetted against the sky, a soft nicker ringing out as Cas’s roan casually nuzzles against Juniper.

Dean sighs contentedly. “Forget paradise. This, right here? This is fucking perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [MalMuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses) for the translation of Rowena’s summoning spell!
> 
> Please go give Cryptomoon some love on the [art masterpost](http://cryptomoon.tumblr.com/post/183464920847/my-art-for-kelpi-need-somebody-by), and consider reblogging the [tumblr masterpost](url).


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